


Six Miles High

by winter_machine



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: "we used to be really good at this", F/M, Mile High Club, No Judgment, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Twosome, addek, addek revolution, addek trash, addison and derek, addison and derek - still half true, she's still a shepherd, tongue in cheek among other places, written on a plane how on brand is that, yes I'm petty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_machine/pseuds/winter_machine
Summary: Addison and Derek didn't get to have nearly enough sex on the show, so it's my goal to rectify that in fic one smutty story at a time.In this one: When Addison remembers that she made a reservation at an exclusive new restaurant for Derek's birthday, she convinces him to fly back to New York for the weekend. Then the flight gets interesting.And then they land and things get even more interesting. Somewhat silly, often smutty, sometimes rather filthy response to LS's request for Addek celebrating a birthday together, set in mid to late Season 2.  Somehow, it's already six chapters.  I wrote the first one on a plane so maybe my 3M privacy screen should be credited as a coauthor.





	1. the very friendly skies

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's 2018, and I'm not sorry. This is a work in progress updated whenever I'm feeling inspired/raunchy, the latest chapter written today. From what I've gathered in my short time here on AO3, this story seems to fit. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (PS I'm honestly not sure whether this is supposed to be tagged "explicit" or "mature," so ... any insight you have would be much appreciated.)

"Hello? Yes, this is - oh," her face falls as she realizes what the caller wants. When she hangs up, she turns to Derek. He's sitting up in bed with a medical journal open on his lap, not paying any attention to her. If he even remembers his birthday is almost here, he hasn't said anything about it.

"Derek?"

He glances up. "Hm?"

"That was ... I mean, I forgot that I made a reservation at the new Michel Aucoin restaurant for this Saturday night. It was months ago."

She remembers how excited she was to get the reservation. She likes planning birthdays in advance.

"Fourchette," she reminds him. "The one with the write-up that you - and I was going to take you there for your birthday."

"Fourchette?" He frowns as he repeats the name. "Didn't you tell me there a two-year wait?"

"Yes, but Michel bumped me up when I delivered his sister's twins. And it's Michel. So you know it will be amazing."

"He's  _your_  favorite," Derek say dismissively, and she's a little hurt. It's true that she takes the lead in choosing restaurants, scouting new ones and keeping up with reviews and the movement of chefs whose work she likes. But Derek told her the last time they ate at Aucoin, Michel's first restaurant, that he loved it. As well he should – Michel is nothing short of brilliant, creative and daring with a knack for making flavors she thought she knew taste fresh and different. She can still taste the heavenly fluke carpacchio, with Michel's muddled yuzu-lime-watercress curling gently on his signature triangular plates.

"You liked Aucoin," she says faintly.

Derek shrugs. "Why are you telling me this?' He doesn't sound aggressive, just curious. "Are they charging you for canceling the reservation?"

"No. I mean, I don't know." She glances at him, then decides to take a chance. "I was kind of thinking maybe we could …  _not_ cancel the reservation."

He doesn't look up from his blackberry. "Yeah? You want to see if Savvy and Weiss want to take it?"

"I meant that we could take it."

Now he looks up, eyebrows furrowed. "But we're in Seattle, and the restaurant is in Manhattan," he says slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dull child.

"I know that, Derek," she says patiently. "I meant … we could go to New York."

"Go to New York. You want to fly across the country for a dinner reservation?"

"First of all, it's not just a  _dinner reservation,_ It's Mcihel Aucoin! And second of all … it's your birthday."

"Thirty-nine." He shrugs. "It's not exactly a big birthday."

"It's still your birthday, and I planned – well, I had a weekend planned you know, before…"

"…before you slept with Mark." He leaves it at that, which is good because she's feeling a little raw, a little vulnerable as she asks him to spend his birthday with her, and she's not sure she could take even good-natured ribbing about what she's done to their marriage.

"Well, the dinner reservation," she says tentatively, "and then I got us a reservation at V in the village – you know, the hotel with the glassed-in roof pool. I mean … I thought it would be fun…." Her voice trails off.

"Derek…"

He turns around.

"You said we, um, we should go back to the place with the boat."

He's not looking at her. "I know."

"So we could … go to Manhattan instead?" Her voice rises at the end, and she hates it. "Derek … it's your birthday. We always plan each other's birthdays."

She says it before she can correct herself.

"…at least we used to," she can't help adding. Two years ago Derek forgot to make any plans, so she made the dinner reservation herself, and he showed up actually on time and then spent the rest of the night in bed making it up to her. Last year he not only forgot but scheduled a surgery smack in the middle of prime dinner hour. She ate bloody-rare steak – as graphic as her anger at the time – with Mark instead.

Derek is looking at her now and she wonders if he's remembering last year.

"We could fly out tomorrow morning – there's a 6:45, and I know that's early but it will give us some time to settle in before dinner. Then we take the last flight out Sunday and we won't even have to miss any work."

"That's a lot of flying for two days."

"It's your birthday," she says again.

"Addison…"

"Please," she says quietly, "we don't have to do anything else –"and she can tell he knows she means they don't have to go back to the brownstone, don't have to try to sort out any of the tangled mess they left behind of their lives in New York. There's a hotel waiting for them in the west village; they won't have to go uptown at all.

"You really want to."

She studies her husband's face. His hair is a bit rumpled and even though it's his fingers that have been running through it, not her own, she's still filled with a rush of affection. "I really want to."

"Okay then." Derek nods shortly. "We'll keep the reservation."

…

He doesn't know what came over him.

Okay, he thinks it probably has something to do with the way Addison was biting her lip softly when she brought up his birthday. She loves making big deals over holidays.

Whatever the reason, no sooner had he acquiesced to the trip than Addison was a flurry of motion, packing, making calls, finalizing arrangements. She's in her element when festivity and organization merge.

And that's how he ends up standing in the priority line at the gate at 6 a.m. while the big jet that awaits them hums quietly on the runway just outside. They sail through the priority line – Addison is whatever comes above gold – platinum? Fairy dust? Something like that, and then they're settling into comfortable leather seats.

Addison made the arrangements and of course she likes the window seat. She always wants the window seat. In Addison's case, it's not because she gets up less frequently than Derek. In fact, she gets up more frequently, so Derek has always assumed it's because she enjoys making him stand up whenever she wants to stretch her legs or adjust her makeup. Other than one over flight in which he got annoyed and refused to stand, and her compromise consisted of what could only be called a mid-air lap dance, he has stopped protesting. After that, to avoid embarrassment – his own, of course,- he always stood up when she wanted to get out.

Addison looks a little nervous, which surprises him. She's an utterly calm flyer, her chief complaint being restrictions on moving around the cabin. She's not exactly a fan of authority – why would she be, when she's always convinced she knows best? He studies her profile – it's inarguably lovely, even if he's not sure why he agrees to traverse the country twice in forty-eight hours.

She sees him looking. "What?"

"You really booked a hotel room?"

"I really did. I was planning on … a celebratory weekend."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"A while," she admits. "Since you told me you like Aucoin, and then Michel opened the new restaurant, and then we were reading an article about the pool on the V's roof …" her voice trails off.

"Oh." It must have been about six months ago, the last time they shared coffee, croissants, and the Sunday New York Times, formerly a frequent tradition. He remembers her reading something to him about a rooftop pool. He remembers being distracted, probably feigning interest. She must have been listening, and wanted to select something he would enjoy. He's sort of touched, but he pushes it down quickly.

"Yeah." She fiddles with the seat belt resting around her hips.

He unfolds the newspaper the flight attendant offered and waits for – yes, here it is.

Addison has yet to fly this airline without being personally greeted and thanked for the obscene number of miles she's obtained.

"We truly appreciate how much flying you've done with us, Dr. Shepherd."

The miles aren't from flying. They're from routinely exorbitant credit card charges for shoes he's convinced she only likes because they make her look intimidating.

(Admittedly, they also make her legs look delicious, but that's beside the point.)

She looks a little embarrassed when the flight attendant walks away.

"Don't pretend you don't like having the red carpet rolled out. We could have flown a different airline," he reminds her.

"Last minute in these seats? No, we couldn't." She lifts an eyebrow. "Would you rather be crammed into row 37 next to the bathroom?"

"No," he admits.

"Good." She folds her hands in her lap. He notices she still looks nervous.

"Addison … is something wrong?"

"No," she says quickly. "No, of course not."

"Then what…"

"I'm just planning your birthday weekend," she says defensively.

He looks around. "We're already on the plane. We have a reservation and a hotel room … what else is there to plan?"

She mutters something he can't hear, and then flushes pink.

"What did you say?" He leans closer.

"I said, it's a plan  _for_ the plane?"

"A plan for the plane? I know you're a shameless backseat driver, but pilots don't take kindly to passengers telling them how to fly."

"Not to fly, to – " She stops talking and gestures at herself with frustration. "Derek – look at what I'm wearing."

He looks. She's wearing one of those printed wrap dresses she likes that he knows are ridiculously expensive considering that when he peels them off her – and he's peeled many of them off her over the years – they seem to amount to one long rectangle of fabric with no discernible shape.  _On_ her, it's a different story, of course, the material hugging her shape and moving seamlessly with her.

"It's nice." He assumes she wanted a compliment but she still looks frustrated. "What am I missing, Addison?"

She leans over the wide armrest separating them. "Derek … I wore it so we can join the club."

"The Platinum Club? You've already their top member, and I share your status. What else do you –"

"Oh my god, Derek, not the Platinum Club! The-" her voice lowers to a fierce hiss directly into his ear. "The  _Mile High_ Club!"

"The Mile – what?" He pulls back. "Addison. That is not an actual club."

"Well, we're joining it anyway. For your birthday."

He glances between her and the front of the plane, which is extremely close. "How exactly do you plan for this to…"

"Just follow my lead," she murmurs, then sits back up.

"Don't I have to agree to this?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you …  _not_ agreeing?"

"We could get caught. We're – there's a flight attendant right there!"

The blonde flight attendant who greeted Addison so enthusiastically gives Derek a warm smile when he catches her eye.

"Look, I know you're platinum, but I don't think that means they turn the other cheek to …" he lowers his voice, " _toilet sex._ "

"Can you please not call it that?" She shudders.

"We can call it whatever you want but that's what it is!"

"Derek. Are you the same guy who convinced me to have sex in the rare books library without a  _door_? Or the coat check at –"

"We were younger then," he says hastily.

"Well, we're never going to be younger than we are right now, especially since you're turning thirty nine in … " she checks her watch. "Forty-eight minutes."

"You remember-"

"I heard your mother tell the story of when you were born a thousand times, Derek, of course I remember. Not even Jesus has had his birth retold so often."

"Mentioning my mother is not the best way to get me to have sex with you," he whispers.

"Now I have to  _get_ you to have sex with me? Derek, you told me years ago you wanted to join the Mile High Club!"

"Was I drunk?"

"Well, yes, but that's not the point!"

She leans back in her seat crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, giving him a flash of red lace.

Damn it.

"Fine," he mutters.

"I knew it." She beams.

…

Let's get one thing clear. For all her bravado, she has no idea what in the hell she's doing. She's spent thirty-eight years avoiding airplane bathrooms unless altogether necessary and now here she is checking her watch for the perfect moment to seek one out and … wait for him. She's planned it carefully so that they can join the club at the exact moment he turns thirty-nine.

Never let it be said that Addison Shepherd isn't detail-oriented when it comes to planning.

She shifts in her seat during takeoff, adjusting the hem of her skirt and waiting for the plan to ascend. At ten thousand feet, the seat belt sign clicks off – but that's just two miles, and that's not the club they're joining.

She waits patiently for cruising altitude, then pops her seat belt off so fast the metal claw hits Derek on the knee.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she whispers. "Okay, I'm … going."

"You're going."

"Just sit here for five minutes and then come knock on the door."

"Five minutes?"

"You have to time it!" She taps his watch.

"Yes, I've made plans with you before, Addie, I'm well aware that synchronized watches are involved.

She glares at him. "Are you up for this or not?"

She rests a hand on his thigh as she waits for his answer.

Never let it be said that Addison Shepherd doesn't know how to get what she wants, either.

"I'm up for it."

"Good." She nods decisively and then climbs over him to get out of the seat, purposefully letting her thighs brush his, leaning some of her weight against him.

And then she's oh-so-casually opening the bathroom door, her heart starting to beat faster…

Hm.

This was definitely sexier in her imagination. The bathroom doesn't exactly smell amazing even if they only took off thirty minutes ago. Plus, i's a tight squeeze and she's in there along right now. She and Derek have had sex in some pretty creative and acrobatic positions before but this might be pushing it. She studies the counter space – tiny metal sink, slats in the wall to deliver tissues and paper towel. Then there's the toilet – ugh, she uses a tissue to guard her hand as she closes the lid. There's barely enough leg room for one person; straddling him is out. The far wall is so close to the toilet it might as well be underwater, and-

She jumps at a loud knock on the door. Five minutes passed quickly. She reaches out to flick the lock open, then leans back against the sink. Hastily, she straightens her hair and then gives her best seductive smile. "Come in," she murmurs.

Nothing.

Oh, right. Airplanes are loud. Murmurs won't work, so she switches to a bellow. "Come in!"

"Uh … are you going to come out first?"

She jumps again, this time blushing furiously at the unfamiliar male voice.

"The captain would like to use the restroom," the flight attendant says sweetly, giving Addison a dark look.

"Yes. Um. Of course. Sorry." Addison steps aside, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Derek is standing behind the flight attendant, giving her a helpless shrug.

"What happened?

"I got up right when you told me to, but then the captain came out of the cockpit."

"How can he need the bathroom, we took off five seconds ago!"

"Why don't you ask him when he comes out? I'm sure he'll love that."

Addison can't help smiling a little at this. "Okay, so I think we should-"

"It's not going to work. This is a sign."

"it's not a sign. Just let me think a little!" She turns to walk back up the aisle. "Are you coming?"

"No, I have to use the bathroom now or it will look like I only got up to have sex with you."

They're speaking quietly, drowned out by the roar of the engine.

"You did only get up to have sex with me."

"But the whole plane doesn't have to know."

"Fine." She stalks back to their row and flops into her window seat.

"Can I get you anything, ma'am?"

She considers this. "Can I have an extra blanket?"

"Are you cold?" The flight attendant narrows her eyes.

"Freezing," Addison says sweetly, realizing she might be more believable if her cheeks weren't flushed pink.

…

Derek returns to their seats, giving Addison a confused look when the flight attendant returns with a folded up silky-soft grey blanket.

"Here's your blanket," she says cheerfully, stressing the word  _your_ , and hands it to Addison.

"Thanks." She turns to Derek. "Okay, let's get blanketed."

"Blanketed?"

"Derek, I don't know how to put this, but … my engine is revved and I need to fly."

"That is a terrible metaphor."

"But it's accurate."

"Addison."

"I need your help or I'll just have to take care of it myself."

She shakes out the thin blanket and spreads it over her lap. "You won't be satisfied until you're arrested for indecent exposure, will you?"

"Derek-"

"Can I offer you another glass of champagne, ma'am?"

Addison jumps so high in her seat Derek is surprised her head doesn't hit the vent above their seat.

She gulps her champagne hastily, glaring at Derek when he reminds her it's not even eight a.m. yet.

"It's almost eleven in New York."

"Eleven  _a.m._ "

"Shut up." She drains the glass. "Okay, we're doing this again."

"What? No."

"Come on. You go first this time. And I'll come meet you."

"It didn't work last time."

"But I'm better than you at this."

"Better than me at – wait a minute, have you done this before?"

"Well, no."

"Then how can you be better than me at it?"

"I can't be much worse!"

He gives her an outraged look. "You can't blame me for the failure! The Captain had to use the restroom. You want to make the man responsible for keeping us alive at thirty thousand feet to wait because you're horny?"

"When you put it that way … yes," she admits.

"That is selfish," he scolds her.

"Selfish, huh?" She raises an eyebrow. "I was planning to be  _very_  generous in there."

His eyes narrow. "How generous are we talking?"

" _Very_  generous."

One of her hands slides onto his thigh and he flinches at the contact.

"Addison…"

"What?" Her tone is innocent. "A married couple can't … snuggle on a plane?"

"If this is snuggling to you – hey," he intercedes as her hand slides higher, "then you are in worse shape than I thought."

"Would you just go to the bathroom so I can join you?" Her voice is a hiss in his ear.

He shakes his head. "You know what, that just doesn't sound sexy no matter how you say it."

" _Derek_." She takes his hand and draws it under the blanket, moving it toward the source of her heat.

"Jesus, Addison!"

"Now do you believe me? This is an emergency!"

"Have planes always made you this horny? Did I somehow miss it, all these years?"

"We can talk about that later. Now just –  _go._ "

He goes.

Feeling like an idiot, he walks up the aisle. The flight attendant gives him a look he doesn't want to analyze. Of course the restroom is occupied, so he stands awkwardly by the flight attendants' station, watching the clouds drift by outside the porthole window

"Smooth flight so far," he says lamely, feeling he should make conversation.

"Yes." The flight attendant studies his face. "Let's hope is stays that way, shall we?"

He gulps and doesn't make any more attempts at small talk; luckily, the door swings open then and Derek hastily slips inside.

He locks the door and looks around. If someone like Addison, who doesn't even like walking  _over_ subway grates, is willing to get naked anywhere near this place, the Mile High Club must be pretty great.

He checks his watch. Naturally, it's exactly five minutes when he hears a knock on the door. Carefully, he slides the lock open as she instructed, and then presses himself against the sink to make room for her as she slides into the tiny room.

She has to press up against him to close the door, which he doesn't really mind.

"Was the flight attendant still out there?"

"I think so."

"We have to wait for her to move, Addie. She's on to us!"

"She's not on to us."

"She is."

"Derek, we're platinum-plus members. She should be laying out a goddam sex hammock for us and I bet she would if we ask."

"You snob." He shakes his head.

"I'm not a snob, I just like the finer things in life."

"The finer things in life … like sex in a smelly bathroom the size of a phone booth?"

"Ooh, phone booth." Her eyes light up.

"What do you mean?" He's suspicious.

"Nothing you need to worry about." She pauses, smiling. "Why do they call it the Mile High Club, anyway? We're more like six miles high..."

…

"Addison…" at his warning tone, she decides she's done waiting and moves in for a kiss, her hand sliding up his thigh as her tongue strokes across his. He responds immediately, dragging her closer and taking control of the kiss, dipping her head back to taste the skin at her neck while she cups him through the fabric of his pants.

He hisses.

"You still want me to stop?" She pulls her hand back and grins at him.

"I hate you."

"It doesn't feel like you hate me," she says, her tone innocent. She moves closer to him and then he hears a thump as some part of her bangs against something.

"My shin," she moans, and she's laughing and half-crying at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Addison, this isn't built for two people." He tries to move his hand down to rub her leg but his feet stick to the floor.  _Ugh._

"This bathroom is disgusting."

"Because you didn't make it in early and now we've been airborne for an hour and a half. But it's not THAT bad, and anyway…" With that, she whips a packet of Lysol wipes from her purse.

Derek's eyes widen. "Seriously?"

"You know I like to be prepared!"

"Prepared for  _this_?"

She does a quick scrubbing.

He can't help sliding his hands under her dress, up the silky smooth skin covering the muscles of her thighs.

"Lace, huh?" He presses a kiss to her neck. "New?"

"Maybe."

"So I shouldn't rip them."

"Not when we have another four hours in the air, no."

"Fine."

He lifts her up onto the sink and she laughs a little, then grabs onto him for support. "Derek – this sink is either very narrow or my ass has gotten very wide."

"Your ass is perfect," he assures her, as he knows is his husbandly duty. "But the sink is narrow. So hold onto me."

She ignores him; instead, her hands drop to his belt buckle, and she's about to start unbuckling, he can tell by her lowered eyelashes, the look in her hazy eyes, except when she lets go of his shoulders she pitches forward and he has to grab her to keep her upright.

She slides a hand into his hair and kisses him fiercely; he figures it's about 50% passion, 50% needing strong suction to make sure she doesn't fall.

"Is that an announcement?"

The call light blinks in the bathroom.

_Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We're seeing some light turbulence from the flight deck. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Thank you._

She curses and then grabs his shoulders when he starts to pull back.

"Don't you dare. After all the work it took to get here!"

"The seatbelt light is on!"

"Now's not the time to become a stickler for rules, honey." She wraps her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans.

"I bet the flight attendant can hear us."

"Then she'll be jealous." Addison leans her head back as she slips her other hand between their bodies. "Happy birthday," she whispers, and grasps him just this side of too firmly, making him gasp.

" _Addison_."

"What?" Her hand is moving in the way she knows drives him crazy now, alternating pressure with those nimble, talented fingers, and if she doesn't stop -

"Hey." He pulls her hand away. "You don't get to have all the fun."

She grins. "So you have some fun, then."

"Oh, I plan to." He pushes up the loose fabric of her skirt and thumbs the lacy fabric between her thighs. She moans as he yanks the fabric free; the panties drop to her ankles and his fingers press against the source of her heat. He's just sinking into the silky softness beckoning his hand when the plane lurches, throwing her hard off the sink.

She cries out with surprise, but he's holding onto her so she doesn't fall. Instead, his back slams against the opposite wall and he's pretty sure whatever metal thing he just bumped into is going to leave a very interesting bruise.

"Sorry!" She holds his face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, but since it's turbulent maybe we should" –

The plane lurches again, this time the other way, shoving both of them toward the mirror; he frees a hand to grab the back of her head before it can slam into the mirror.

"Thanks," she pants.

And with that the plane lurches again, and this time with her legs wrapped around him the motion of their bodies drives him deeply into her; she cries out.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just give me a second." She's panting a little; her muscles accommodating him and then the plane shakes with the vibrations of the patch of rough air and she moans into his neck. Maybe  _this_ is what makes the Mile High Club so good.

She's grabbing him tightly with her thighs and her muscles are grabbing him from inside in a way that feels like the sweetest torture; she's trying to hold on, he knows, because it feels like any minute their connected bodies might smash through the rattling, turbulent door. But  _this_ has to be what the Mile High Club actually is all about because her grip on him, iron and velvet all at once, does him in faster than he would have thought possible, with the exhalation of her name into her hair and one last thrust into the shaking wall.

"See … that wasn't so bad," she whispers in his ear, moist lips trailing their way down the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"Shut up." He kisses her hard, taking her bottom lip between his teeth –

in retrospect, a terrible idea, because even though it's a move she normally loves, the jolt of the plane drives his teeth into her skin.

"Ow!" She pulls back, dabbing at her lip. "Am I bleeding?"

"Yes. Sorry." He winces, reaching around her warm slippery body for a tissue that he uses to blot her lip.

"It's okay."

He's still holding her up; now he moves very carefully to the sink and sets her down on the counter, red lace panties still dangling at her ankles – protected from the worryingly sticky floor by her insanely high heeled shoes.

She sighs a little at the loss of contact as he slides out of her, and he laughs, kissing her more gently this time.

"We actually pulled it off."

"Told you," she says smugly.

…

She knew it would be hot. And now Derek has to eat his words.

Okay, maybe the hot part is over now that she's cleaning herself up with a handful of wet paper towels in a tiny airplane bathroom. But still.

Derek is buckling his belt, grinning at her. "You know what, I should have listened to you when you said this was a good idea."

"You should have listened to me when I said a lot of things," she grumbles, but she can't be too upset because the way he's stroking her bare leg is reminding her that even if they're done joining the club, they still have a whole weekend together.

"All clean?"

"Yes," she says primly, cheeks flushing.

"Good." And without warning, he hoists the leg he's holding higher, sliding further between her thighs as she yelps with surprise. "Then let's get you dirty again."

"Derek!"

He just laughs at her, his free hand sliding between their bodies. She closes her eyes, any protest dying in her mouth as he draws lazy circles against heated flesh. There's just no substitute for – let's not sugarcoat it – sixteen years of fucking the same person, learning every inch of their bodies, what every gasp and moan means, exactly when to speed up and when to slow down, and –

"Oh!" He's curled those way-too-talented fingers inside her and he feels like he's everywhere at once. Her body is boneless under his touch and he's holding one of her legs; her free leg scrabbles at his hips, feeling like she's sliding off the sink. Her body is boneless, but he's holding her up, and the pressure builds until she has to bury a scream along with her teeth in the flesh of his shoulder. Exhausted, she gives up trying to hold herself up and just sumps against him.

"I've got you."

She regains enough strength to wrap her legs around his waist. "I don't know if I can stand," she says shakily.

"Good, then I've done my job." He kisses her briefly. "Like I said … it's my birthday so I should get to have some fun too."

"I'm okay with that." She laughs a little into his shoulder, then a little more. She gets like this sometimes after …. And he tangles his fingers in her hair; she can feel him smiling against the top of her head. The first time she burst into wild laughter they were med students with endless energy and he seemed shocked; now, he's clearly not surprised – if anything, he's pleased.

"That good, huh?"

"You are  _so_ arrogant."

"You love it."

"Maybe."

…

There's a loud knock on the door.

"Fuck," she whispers.

"Not right now, maybe again later."

"Derek!" She shoves his shoulder. "They're going to see us, everyone's going to know."

"Yeah, you've made it pretty obvious." He takes in her flushed skin, the rosiness extending over her delicate collarbones and down the plunging neckline of her dress. Her hair has distinct finger marks, her lips are kiss-swollen, and her eyes look so sleepy and sated he's not sure how much longer she'll be awake.

"It's your fault."

"You're welcome," he says smoothly, raising an eyebrow when she glares at him. "Come on, let's go before we end up on the No Fly list."

He helps her slide her lace panties back up her endless legs – she moans and, fine, he isn't exactly being efficient about it, more like taking his time to skim over sensitive flesh, but finally they've reached their destination and he helps her slide them over her hips.

She reaches up to finger comb his hair back into place, and then tries to smooth her own down.

"Better?"

He nods.

Addison is truly remarkable – he knows this, but he's reminded again and she stands, with his help, on shaky legs, taking a moment to tuck her hair behind her ears, and then suddenly she's perfectly proper again, swinging open the door with impressive confidence.

She stalks out, her heels clicking until she hits carpet, and then suddenly he realizes why she was so confident.

_She_ left first, thus preserving the illusion that she was innocently using the bathroom. As for him? HE's stuck walking out after her, making it clear that their time in the little metal cubicle was anything but innocent.

Oh, he's definitely going to get her back for this.

…

He holds his head high as he walks out, crossing his fingers that whatever punishment they might receive isn't enough to go through the medical board.

Thankfully – apparently someone up there likes him – the flight attendants are both in the aisle when he exits, though the businessman in a perfectly creased suit gives him a dirty look when he walks out.

Addison is sitting in her window seat three rows back, legs crossed, apparently engrossed in the in flight magazine resting on her lap. He slides in next to her.

"Nice job setting me up," he scolds her lightly.

"I don't know what you mean." She doesn't look at him, apparently focused hard on a map of O'Hare. After today he's not certain she's not scoping out other places for them to christen.

"Don't worry about it," he tells her affectionately, sliding a hand under the loose hem of her skirt and palming one bare thigh, which makes her gasp. He grins at how sensitive she still is; he's always loved that about her. It takes a little while for her nerve endings to settle down, for the blush that – if only he could look, probably still extends down her thighs – to fade away.

"Derek…" Her voice holds warning.

"What?"

She's shifting in her seat, lips pressed together, and he takes pity on her, releasing her with just one last stroke to the impossibly silky skin of her inner thigh.

"Hey … how much time before the reservation?"

"It's at nine. So depending on traffic from JFK we should have … wait, why?" Her eyes narrow. "What are you plotting?"

"Nothing at all." He pats her thigh through her skirt, all business now. "Don't worry about it."

…

Almost four more hours.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. It's not his fault that Addison's hair is a mess, that her eyes are still sparkling, that despite her valiant attempts to clean herself off he's still sitting closely enough to her that he can't escape her lingering arousal.

"Breakfast, sir?

He jumps at the voice.

"We have a broccoli omelet or a cheese croissant, as well as an assortment of fruit. Which can I get you?"

"Ditch the broccoli, focus on the fruit. As for extra pineapple," she whispers to him and he feels color rise in his cheeks.

"Jesus, Addison."

"I'm just trying to think ahead!"

It's worse when the food comes. He has to stare straight ahead because if he angles his head even slightly to the right he'll see Addison eating her fruit in a way that's purposefully designed to torture him.

He can't help looking over quickly. She's placing a single berry on her fork at a time, then slowly embracing it with her lips. He watches the fork disappear into her mouth and has to swallow hard.

She licks the lines clean and gives him an innocent smile. "Honey … you're staring."

"Cut it out!"

"You have a little something right there," she tells him, raising a finger to his mouth and dabbing at the corner of his lips. She raises the finger her own mouth and slowly, torturously, sucks it clean.

"Mm, jam."

He slides a hand around to rest on her hip as they wait to deplane. Her skin is warm through the fabric of her dress, and she smiles at him, apparently recovered from their club initiation.

…which is good, because he has plans for later.

He takes down her suitcase for her, and then his, watching her walk the short distance to the exit.

"I hope you enjoyed the flight, ma'am," the flight attendant says, smiling in a way that suggests she wouldn't mind if Addison took her platinum membership to a different airline.

"Oh, I did," Addison says sincerely, "but not as much as he did." She gestures behind her to Derek and with a wicked grin she disappears down the jetway before he can protest.

Fine, if that's the way they're going to play it … he'll just have to get her back when they get to the hotel.

It's only fair, isn't it? He watches her walk ahead of him, the skirt of her printed dress swirling around her endless legs, and decides this might turn out to be a pretty good birthday after all.


	2. all aboard that's going aboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWIST (aka "the one that starts in medias res")

"Excuse me, Officer," Addison says, leaning forward as much as her position will allow, "can you please take these handcuffs off?"

The answer comes from the front seat. "Why would I do that?"

Addison shifts on the cracked leather underneath her thighs, trying to see more than the back of the officer's head through the scratched glass barrier that divides them. "Because … I can't move my hands."

"Yeah, funny thing, that's kind of the point of handcuffs."

"We're doctors," Addison protests.

"Yeah? Like Dr. Ruth," one of the officers snickers.

"I heard that!"

"Hope so," the other officer says, "'cause it was pretty loud."

"We have rights," Addison calls out, despite Derek's glare, which might sound more convincing if not for her smeared makeup and very tousled hair. "We have the right to .. stuff. Like an attorney."

"I'm aware," the policeman says drily. "Pretty sure I actually told  _you_ that when I arrested you and your husband for traumatizing a very nice group of tourists from Ohio."

"We didn't – look, we're not criminals," Addison says, even as Derek tries to elbow her with his constrained arms.

"Oh, you hear that?" One of the officers is talking to the other now, loudly. "Lady says they're not criminals."

"I heard that. Guess they're not criminals, then. We should just let them go."

"Yes!" Addison tries to sit up eagerly, then slumps back down when her handcuffed wrists refuse to give her leverage.

"Addie," Derek hisses next to her, "they are  _being sarcastic._ "

"Well," Addison says with as much dignity as she can muster considering the last twenty minutes, "I don't really think sarcasm befits an officer of the law."

"Then you probably should avoid committing crimes in New York City, or stay out of the city entirely," one of them points out from the front seat. "Stick to places where people are nicer."

"We love New York," Derek says hastily, glaring at Addison.

"We're aware," one of the officers says, snickering. "You know what, folks, I think your problem might be that you love New York a little  _too_ much, if you know what I mean."

… unfortunately, they do know what he means. Addison and Derek exchange a nervous glance from their equally uncomfortable positions handcuffed on either side of the musty backseat of the cop car, trying not to listen to the worrying sounds of the radio transmissions from the front that say things like  _yeah, we got 'em_ and  _eyewitnesses_ and  _make sure you get that statement in triplicate._

It was just a nice birthday trip to Manhattan. How the hell did they end up here?

...  
...

"Mm, smell that?"

"Garbage?"

"Derek!" She swats him with her bag, which might be cute for the kind of woman who carries a dainty little purse, but Addison's bags are always large enough to hold a cadaver and twice as heavy, so he takes a minute to get his breath back.

"Not  _garbage,_ " she corrects him, "just that … ineffable scent of New York, all the excitement, the ambition, the melting pot, the stew of … okay, garbage, but other things, too." It's not her fault they're waiting for the late town car next to a steaming pile of …

Garbage.

Derek's eyes are twinkling. Addison sighs. "I don't understand why the car isn't here yet." She checks her cell phone again.

"Let's just take a taxi."

"There's already a car meeting us."

"It's not meeting us, or it would be here."

They bicker for a few minutes until the yellow cab that's pulled up in front of them lowers its window and the driver sticks his head out. "Hey! You two! You want a ride somewhere or you want to fight in the middle of the street?"

"Well … both," Addison says honestly, as Derek hustles both of them and their luggage into the cab.

...  
...

"Now's the time to talk."

"Talk," Addison says uncertainly.

"Yes, talk." The officer with the handlebar mustache –  _Gianni_ , his name tag says, points a thick finger at her. "If you have an explanation for what …  _took place,_ now's the time to tell us."

"What if we don't want to talk?"

"Well." The other officer –  _Reilly,_ his name says, and his curly hair is as red as Addison's – "then we might not be so generous as to let you hang out in this lovely room."

There's a pause while Derek and Addison glance around the cement walls, peeling paint, and flickering fluorescent lightboxes.

"We have a nice holding cell available," Officer Gianni says pleasantly. "Well, one for each of you. The ladies' cell is occupied, though, but I'm sure you'll be good at sharing, and Miss Krystal always likes some company when she-"

"Okay, we'll talk," Addison says hastily.

"Good choice. So. You were saying. Then you took the cab to the …"

"No." Addison leans forward slightly in the uncomfortable plastic chair, her handcuffed wrists – in front of her this time, at least, resting on the cracked formica table. They're in an interrogation room. An actual interrogation room! "We took the cab to the hotel."

"Then why –"

"Because it's part of the story. Didn't you ask for the story?"

"I did," Officer Gianni mutters, "but I'm already regretting it."

...  
...

Derek is looking out the window, wondering how the grey forgettable streets between JFK and the parkway can still somehow be so emblazoned in his memory that it's like he never left. He cracks the window for a cool early spring breeze. The air tastes different here. It was summer when he left.

When he turns his head he sees Addison looking at him.

"What?"

"Nothing." Her mouth twitches. "How does it feel to be back?"

"It feels … we're not  _back_ ," he corrects her. "We're here for dinner."

...  
...

"What do you mean,  _back_?" Officer Gianni frowns. "Didn't you swear up and down you're lifelong law-abiding New Yorkers, own a home…"

"We do," Addison confirms hastily. "We've been, um, living – I mean staying – out in Seattle for the past few … months."

"Seattle?" Officer Reilly looks puzzled. "What are you doing out there?"

Addison swallows hard. For the job. Right. The job. That sounds … law-abiding. "My husband got an offer he couldn't refuse," she says weakly.

Derek snorts and she tries to elbow him which, in handcuffs, just causes her to slide down in the chair. Which is embarrassing. Then again, inching herself back up the slippery surface like an earthworm is more of a workout than pilates, so at least that's something.

Officer Reilly frowns at Derek. "What?"

"Nothing," Derek says as Addison glares at him, then seems to change his mind. "What my wife means is that  _she_ got an offer that she … should have refused."

Oh, she's going to kill him if they ever make it out of jail. She wonders if Bonnie ever got this annoyed with Clyde.

She musters up as much dignity as she can under the circumstances. "May I continue?"

"Please do."

...  
...

"Dinner," she echoes. "Right. But, Derek, it's just…"

He's studying her face, waiting for her to finish, so he sees the exact moment the color of her eyes changes and knows exactly why.

"Addison…"

"Derek, it's a cab," she whispers, "you  _know_ what cabs do to me."

He prays the driver can't hear them; based on the volume of the cell phone call he's taking from the front seat, he thinks they're probably safe.

"Is that why you called a town car?"

"I thought we might need a break after the flight."

"You really do think of everything." He shakes his head, impressed in spite of himself. "Look, just try to – Addison!" He covers her hand with his and shoves it hastily downwards. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she purrs.

"Well, I do! Look, just – " but her hand is skimming up his thigh again and he's losing the abilty to stop her. That giant weapon of a bag is coming in handy because she's using it to block them, and -

...  
...

"Did you happen to catch the medallion number of the taxi?"

"No, why did-" Addison shakes her head. "Wait a minute. We didn't do anything wrong in the taxi!"

"If you say so." The officer smirks. "Go on, then. What happened next?"

...  
...

Addison is leaning her head against Derek's shoulder as the taxi makes its way through congestion toward their hotel. His half open window – the best defense against the steamy backseat – is beckoning in a cacophony of city sounds, shouting and honking and laughing and sirens and barking and pretty much everything you can think of.

It's not peaceful.

But it could never be boring.

Addison takes a moment to reflect on what a truly special place the city is, and-

Huh, she's never heard anyone curse using  _quite_ those words, strung together in  _quite_ that way before, but their driver is creative, because the havoc he threatens to unleash upon the driver who cut him off, the driver's mother, the driver's ancestors, and several key parts of the driver's body, is nothing if not unique.

She's still pondering how exactly, logistically speaking, the bad driver's grandmother would be able to do  _that_  when the driver pulls to a screeching halt that practically sends both of them through the barrier.

"Hurry up, can't park here."

"Well then, why did you pull over here?"

"Addison." Derek is reaching over her to open the door on the sidewalk side; he's  _such_ a good citizen. "Just get out."

She flicks crisp bills at the driver while he practically throws their bags from the trunk and then squeals away from the curb.

Derek is tilting his head back like a tourist, taking in the sleek mid-rise in front of them. "So this is the V."

"This is the V. They finally finished the renovation." She points. "Now there's a glassed-in pool on the roof."

Derek turns to her. "With security cameras?"

"Probably."

"Hm." He seems to be considering it.

...  
...

"Lady, are you  _trying_ to incriminate yourself?"

"We didn't do anything there either," Addison says hastily. "We got distracted."

"By the sights of the city, huh? A lot of tourists like to use that as an excuse."

"We're not tourists. We're New Yorkers. In fact, my family has been  _very_ supportive of the PBA over the years, if you remember that gala-"

"Ow!" She stops talking and glares at Derek. "You kicked me!"

The policeman gives him a pointed look. "You want to add a domestic to your charges?"

"No," he says hurriedly, "I wasn't trying to hurt her, I was just trying to get her to shut up."

The two officers exchange a look.

"Seems reasonable to me."

"Yup."

Addison sputters indignantly but can't summon much of a defense.

"You were saying …"

"She was saying she was distracted."

"Distracted," Officer Gianni says doubtfully.

"Distracted," Addison confirms primly.

"Fine." Officer Reilly folds his arms on the table. "I'll bite. Distracted by what?"

...  
...

"Addison … what are you doing?"

She looks confused. "Getting undressed so I can shower."

Right. Addison can't have "plane" on her for any longer than necessary. It's one of the many vehicles and concepts that require immediate post-showering, including the subway, the crosstown bus, walking through any parade, and voting. He certainly can't blame her this time after what they did on the plane, Lysol wipes aside.

They've barely entered the room – which is vast for a Manhattan hotel room, decorated in sleek lines and shining surfaces, mostly white with a few pops of color. Addison probably thinks it's elegant; Derek thinks it's one huge dry cleaning bill waiting to happen. Definitely not the kind of hotel where you can order midnight spaghetti from room service, not without ruining the spread and carpet, even if spaghetti is surprisingly useful for –

"Derek!"

"What?"

She's not wearing anything now except the red lace panties emblazoned in his memory from the airplane. With one hand pushing open the bathroom door, she smirks over her shoulder. "Are you joining me or not?"

...  
...

"Let me guess," Officer Reilly says wearily. "You joined her."

"Of course he did," Addison said impatiently. "But that's not the point. The story's just getting started."

"Oh, good," says Officer Gianni, propping his chin in one meaty fist. "I was hoping there'd be more."

...  
...

The problem with the shower is that there's no door.

It's not a problem, it's most likely some kind of architectural statement, but Addison realizes she should have done more research before choosing the V. The entire shower is so sleek and white and minimalist that it's basically just … invisible, without any of the surfaces she was hoping would bear her weight – she doesn't exactly advertise this, but she's always been a big fan of the wide, smoked glass door in the shower of their brownstone's master bathroom feels against her flesh, cold and steamy at the same time, while Derek is behind her and …

"This shower sucks," she says mournfully, turning to her husband.

The powerful jets of water have slicked down his curly hair and it looks all wrong, so she slides her fingers into his wet locks to muss them up and make him look more like himself. She has to press her body against his to fix his hair, and he doesn't really have anywhere to put his arms other than around her to keep them both steady on the slippery Moroccan tiles lining the floor. It takes a while to get his hair to look the way she likes it, and a lot of moving around, so she shouldn't have been surprised when she felt him responding.

"So you  _are_ recovered," she beams.

"I never said I wasn't." He's toying with the ends of her wet hair now, flattened out it's ridiculously long, practically to the small of her back, and he moves from there to resting his hands in the dip of her spine, then smoothing his palms over the flesh underneath.

"But in the taxi-"

"We're a little old for  _in the taxi,_  Addison."

She leans back to see his face, hurt. "We are  _not_ old!"

"It's my birthday. I'm old."

"You don't …  _feel_ old…"

...  
...

"Are you going to get to the point anytime soon?"

"I'm  _trying_ ," Addison protests. "It's kind of a long story."

"Does it really need to be, though?" Officer Reilly sighs loudly.

"Just wrap it up," Derek urges.

"I can't, they won't understand."

"How about you? Officer Gianni jerks his head at Derek. "You gonna make the wife tell the whole story?"

"Fine. I'll tell, but it's going to be a lot shorter."

"No, honey, you can't rush it," Addison protests.

"She's right,  _honey_ ," Officer Reilly smirks. "Apparently the details are really important here."

"They always are," Officer Gianni muses.

...  
...

With such a frustrating shower, they have no choice but to stumble out, dripping and laughing, grab handfuls of thick terry towels and make their way to the vast white bed in the middle of the room. He doesn't have any plans, not really, they're just falling onto the supportive surface –  _god,_ he's missed real mattresses but he could never tell Addison that, though by the twinkle in her eyes she can tell what he's thinking.

She's on her side looking down at him, trailing a hand along his chest and smiling and he's never been able to resist her straight out of the shower; it's the contrast of her chilled skin and the heat pulsing through from underneath, so with a little growl he flips her over and wastes no time sliding down her fragrant skin to take advantage of a hell of a lot more space than they had in the plane.

And then it's nothing but glorious sensation … well, that and trying not to lose an eye.

The thing is, Addison had been pretty pissed in med school when he made a comment about – what was it –  _wrestling an angry octopus_ – and he's certainly not stupid enough to say anything like that aloud now, not for years and years, but … it wasn't inaccurate, not then and not now either.

Of course, that's just part of the fun. He's gotten better at protecting his more important parts from her frantic flailing, but she's still all threats – well, half threats and half the kind of noises that make him think he's not going to be able to last much longer … if at all.

He takes a break to smirk up at her from his very pleasant vantage point, and she tries to glare at him with eyes that are mostly rolled up in her head.

"I'm going to kill you," she moans.

"Yeah, I don't think you'll have the energy for that when I'm done with you."

"Then I'll hire a hitman."

"You were always good at delegating tasks." He kisses the satin skin at the insides of her thighs, which are currently straining against the forearms muscling them down.

He lets go for one foolish moment and her thighs seal his ears; this would actually be a fairly efficient way to kill him and truth be told, if he's going to suffocate he can't imagine a nicer way to go. Her legs are locked so tightly he can't disengage them; damn her affinity for the exercise bike. He always assumed it had something to do with the outfit, but it's apparently also in case she needs to dispose of someone Bond-girl style.

That's okay, he's been here before.

There's only ever been one surefire to get her to let go of his skull, and he goes for it now.

She shrieks and releases the death grip she has on his head.

"Derek!"

"I wasn't getting any oxygen!"

"Maybe you should get creative."

"Creative? Like tie you up? Mm." He considers this. "Maybe for your birthday."

"That's not for two months!"

"Maybe the ringing in my ears will have gone away by then."

...  
...

"You know, Mr. … Shepherd, we appreciate detail, but you can feel free to skip over the unnecessary parts."

"It was very necessary!" Derek protests.

"And it's  _Doctor_ Shepherd," Addison adds.

Derek can't help smiling.

The two officers exchange a weary glance. How many years until retirement, again?

"Anyway," Addison continues, "then we-"

"Can you just get to the … scene of the crime?"

"I'm trying! It wasn't that simple!"

_It never is._

...  
...

"Let's never leave."

She's lying on her back on the rumpled white sheets, thighs parted to bring some much needed air to her heated skin, staring at the intricately whorled carvings on the light fixture over her head.

"What about dinner?" Derek turns to grin at her. He's lying in much the same way, with one arm behind his head and the other resting on one of her spread thighs.

"Screw dinner," Addison mumbles.

"You mean screw  _through_  dinner," Derek corrects her, "and I think we could use some sustenance if that's the plan."

"Fine." Addison turns over to curl against him. God, it's been a long time since they had a decent sized bed for afterglow.

…let's be real, it's been a long time since they've had decent afterglow, period.

He brings his arm down around her and she's a little amused that they're basically …  _snuggling …_  after doing what can only be described as filthy things to each other.

Which is kind of the best thing about marriage, when you think about it.

...  
...

"Very touching." Officer Gianni leans back in his chair, resting his hands on his sizeable midsection. "Would you just-"

"I'm getting there!"

...  
...

"We have a few hours before the reservation," Addison says tentatively.

"You want to leave?" Derek is surprised.

"No. God, no," she admits, "but I kind of had one more thing planned."

Derek's brow furrows. "I need a little recovery time before-"

"Not  _that_ thing," she says hastily. "Something else."

"Oh?"

Reluctantly, she wriggles out of his arms and rifles through her suitcase before presenting him with a wrapped package.

"Didn't you already get me enough presents?"

She smiles, sitting up cross-legged. "Just open it."

He does; it's a deep blue shirt, so dark it's almost indigo. She beams and gestures for him to hold it up against his body. "It's perfect," she says happily. "You look-"

...  
...

Officer Gianni flips his pad open. "Look, let's just agree for the sake of argument that  _Derek_ here does look 'stunning' in blue."

"He does," Addison insists, "he really does, but it has to be dark blue. Which you'd think wouldn't be the case because his eyes are  _light_ blue, but I think the way it works is-"

"Addison, please," Derek mutters, "we're going straight to Attica at this rate."

"I was just trying to set the scene."

"Just go on," Officer Reilly says with a generous wave of his hand.

...  
...

"I should have guessed."

"You should have," she agrees, smiling at him as her scarf whips around her face and she links her arm through his, cuddling close for warmth as the ferry picks up speed and the wind moves her hair.

Derek's new shirt – and his eyes – are the only blue Addison can see right now. It's not exactly perfect ferryboat weather; it's grey and windy, reminding everyone that New York is still weathering the  _in like a lion_ phase of March and hasn't yet reached  _out like a lamb._

That's not to say she's not enjoying herself. Her skin still feels like it's tingling from how much she enjoyed herself back in the hotel, in fact, and the look of delight in Derek's eyes when she brought him to the ferry dock is enough to make her body tighten up in anticipation of his favorite ways to thank her.

She glances at him sideways.

He glances back.

She -

...  
...

"We're going to be here for hours at this rate," Officer Reilly complains.

Addison glances at the clock on the wall. "About that, um, the thing is that we have these dinner reservations…"

Derek sinks lower in his seat. Forget Attica. They're definitely headed for the Supermax now.

"Oh, you have  _dinner reservations_?"

Addison nods, smiling hopefully.

"Well, why didn't you just tell me that?" Officer Gianni shakes his head. "Reilly, did you know these nice folks had dinner reservations?"

"I did not know that."

"What time are those reservations?"

"Nine o'clock," Addison says quickly. "But I'd really like to be able to change before then, since…"

"Of course you would. Look, if we'd known you had dinner reservations, we never would have arrested you." Gianni smiles at Addison.

"Really?"

The smile drops off his face. " _No._ You know what, lady, you are really making this too easy."

…which was part of the problem in the first place, Derek thinks, and Addison can probably tell what he's thinking because she kicks  _him_ under the table this time.

...  
...

It's chilly enough that most people are inside. Or at least that's how it seemed, because-

...  
...

"Okay, enough. Get to the point or you can cool your heels in Rikers."

"No!" Addison leans forward hastily, almost slipping down her chair again. "Just give me a minute and I'll get there."

Officer Gianni studies her. "You ever been to Rikers?"

"No," Derek admits.

"I have," Addison says.

"Really.  _You_  have," Reilly sounds very doubtful.

"Really. It was part of an outreach program for incarcerated pregnant and recently post-natal mothers. I'm a board-certified OB-GYN. Well, that's in addition to -"

"You can stop there, Addie," Derek mutters.

"She can go on," Gianni says.

_She sure can._

"Then get  _to_ it," Officer Reilly says sharply. "Get to the point."

"Okay. Okay." Addison takes a deep breath. "So the next thing that happened …"

" … was that this interview ended." The door to the interrogation room bounces open and a very familiar face crosses the threshold, suited and frowning and looking very official. "Sorry, officers. My clients are done here."

"Weiss!" Derek doesn't think he's ever been happier to see his old friend.

… even if his old friend looks like he's never going to let them live this down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hungry (and you thought I was just thirsty).


	3. technicalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...he's always had a thing for ferryboats.

"The Staten Island Ferry." Weiss shakes his head once the three of them are alone, managing to look mournful and amused all at once. "I have a  _lot_ of questions, believe me, but let's just start out with the first one. I'm sorry, but …  _how_  exactly is the Staten Island Ferry sexy?"

"It's a ferryboat!" Derek sounds like the answer should be obvious.

Addison groans, massaging her aching head with both linked fists. Their old friend looks anything but convinced.

"But it's  _orange_ ," Weiss protests, looking from Addison to Derek. "And I know it's been a few months since you've lived here, but neither of you has been out of the city so long that you've forgotten it's  _the_ commuter vessel for law enforcement, right? … so maybe next time you want to get frisky you should stick to a water taxi or, I don't know, this is probably crazy, but …  _a bed_? And not mine either," he adds hastily.

"That was one time, and we were house-sitting," Derek protests. "You specifically said  _make yourselves at home._ "

"That's true." Weiss nods. "That's fair. I guess we wouldn't even have known if you hadn't left behind those handcuffs ... and half a pretzel."

"Sorry about that, man," Derek says seriously.

"What do you do with the pretzel, anyway?" Weiss wrinkles his nose. "You would never tell me."

"You don't really want to know, do you?"

"No, I guess not." Weiss sighs. "Look, don't get me wrong, I'm glad the two of you are … reconnecting, but that doesn't mean you have to go right back to getting naked in inappropriate places."

"We were not  _naked,_ " Addison says with dignity, or as much dignity as one can muster when her wrists are still cuffed together, and not in the fun way either.

"Oh, don't go stealing all the good parts of my defense."

"Weiss," Derek says. "We're very happy to see you, really. But are you going to represent us? I mean, this isn't exactly your area…"

"Lewd and indecent? No. I mean, it comes up in the context of securities fraud, sure, but not quite so … blatantly. Usually. Nah, I called in a favor from a law school buddy, and he's on call, but … I had to see you for myself."

"Great," Addison mutters.

Derek leans forward. "Weiss … can you get us out of here? I mean, come on, they don't really have anything on us."

Weiss shakes his head. "Actually, they do. The two of  _you_ are the ones who didn't have anything on."

"It's not funny," Addison grumbles. "And more importantly, it's not true! We were wearing all our clothes! Those people-"

"You mean the witnesses?"

" _Those people,_ " Addison repeats firmly, "blew it all out of proportion."

"Really." Weiss raises his eyebrows as he shuffled through the blue folder. "Let's see what we have here. Oh, look, here's a witness statement from a woman who chose not to give her name. I'll just read a highlight:  _frankly, I was shocked – I thought that nice Mayor Bloomberg had cleaned up the city._ "

Addison snorts at this and Derek frowns at her.

Weiss continues as if he wasn't interrupted. "And here's another witness statement from … let's see, Mrs. Anne Roberts, of Willisburg, Ohio, who told the police – and I quote –  _my ten-year-old asked me if they were making a baby._ "

"Not the way we were doing it," Derek mutters and Addison does her best to smack him with her cuffed hands.

" _Anyway_ ," Addison says with firm dignity, clearing her throat, "that just goes to show that abstinence-only education does more harm than good."

"Oh, I forgot you're a sex ed activist when you're not getting arrested for public indecency." Weiss rolls his eyes. "That's why you got naked on the ferry? To make a statement about policy?"

"I didn't  _get naked._ "

"A technicality."

"People get off on technicalities all the time – don't you  _dare,_ " Addison adds when Weiss opens his mouth. "Not every phrase is an opportunity for a dirty joke, you know."

"Clearly." Weiss sighs. "Look, I'm just giving you a hard time."

(There's a moment of silence as all three of them glance quickly at each other and decide to let the opportunity for a dirty joke pass.)

"Really," Weiss says kindly. "I mean, it's not like this is unprecedented. We can just add the Staten Island Ferry to the list of places you've gotten yourself banned." He shakes his head, ticking them off on his fingers in a rather judgmental fashion. "… there's the NatHealth skybox at Yankee Stadium … and all of section F at Yankee Stadium, which seems appropriate; the New York Public library – two branches to be specific; the  _Homo Erectus_  exhibit at Natural History and that's too easy even for me to turn into a pun," he adds, "and the European Art wing at the Met; the Christmas Tree display at the Met, which I guess makes sense considering who we're talking about; La Grenouille – which reminds me, also the French Embassy … " he pauses. "I never did get the story there."

"I don't think you'd like it," Addison says hastily.

"You're probably right." Weiss clears his throat and continues. "Ellis Island," he wrinkles his nose, "okay, that one is just …  _wrong_."

"We were on a research high," Derek explains. "We had just found the ship manifest for my great-grandmother Maloney. She came over here at sixteen, alone, from County Clare. Isn't that incredible?"

"Yeah, real American Dream stuff," Weiss mutters. "That's great, really, though I'm not sure which part of that story, exactly, was the turn-on?"

Derek sits up a little straighter. "Never mind," he says.

Weiss rolls his eyes. "You know what, Derek? I'm starting to think the real reason you took off to Seattle is because you'd already screwed your way through New York."

"No, I took off to Seattle because Addison – "

"Never mind, I already know," Weiss says patiently. "Now. Shall I continue?"

"Do we have a choice?"

Weiss shakes his head. "I bill out at 950 an hour and you're getting my services  _pro bono_ here so … no, not really."

"Fine." Derek sighs. "Go on."

"Thank you," Weiss continues, clearing his throat, "so. As you know, you've also been banned from the Vanderbilt exit at Grand Central…"

"…that shouldn't count, that was after a weekend apart," Addison protests weakly, "and I was in the middle of-"

Weiss continues, speaking over her, "the first class cabin on National Airlines  _and_ Cross-Continent Airlines."

"CCA went out of business," Derek interrupts quickly.

"Oh, that explains it," Weiss mutters. "And – let's be clear, these are just the ones I know about – but as I was saying: last, but not least … Temple Beit Ahavah in Edgemere, Long Island."

Derek winces a little at this one. "Sorry about that, Weiss. Your nephew's bar mitzvah was just … very moving."

"Understandably." Weiss lifts an eyebrow. "I guess I should add that you also still have lifelong restraining orders from both the Fleischer  _and_  the Greenberg families."

Addison nods solemnly. "We take those very seriously, Weiss, we've towed the line, I promise."

"We never meant to cause any problems," Derek adds.

"Well, in your defense – somewhat – their sons did both say it was the best bar mitzvah they've ever been to, bar none." Weiss pauses. "Bar none, get it? That was Manny who said it. His grandfather was a Borscht Belt staple back in the day, I guess it's genetic. Look, my point is," he continues firmly, "it's 2006. You're actual adults. The two of you  _need_  to stop getting naked in public."

"We  _weren't naked_!" Addison hastens to defend herself yet again.

Weiss frowns at her. "You do realize your blouse is buttoned wrong."

"It's a confusing blouse," she offers weakly.

"You're a surgeon."

"I'm not a  _blouse_ surgeon."

Weiss buries his face in his hands. "I defended Steer Capital  _and_ Donny Watts – and this might be the first case where I have to step down due to ethical concerns."

"Really, Weiss," Addison says primly, "it's too cold to get naked anyway. Plus it was drizzling. There's no reason not to believe us."

"I might believe you … if I didn't know about the Rockefeller Center tree lighting, which I forgot to mention in my list."

"Lifelong ban," Addison sighs, "but … ultimately worth it, I would say."

"Agreed." Derek grins.

Weiss groans. "Are you  _sure_ you guys didn't come back to New York because you got kicked out of Seattle?"

"Positive," Derek says firmly.

"We came for Derek's birthday," Addison reminds him.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the problem."

Derek hides a smile while Addison wrinkles her nose. "Look, I know we're easy targets right now – come  _on,_ don'tturn that into a double entendre too – but can't you help us? I'm dying to get out of here and get clean. I mean  _change my clothes,_ " she adds quickly.

"Okay, look." Weiss leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You keep telling me what you  _didn't_ do. Are you going to tell me what you  _did_  do?"

Addison and Derek exchange a glance. "Um…"

Weiss props his head in his hands again. "I know how you are with the details, so please. Spare me the more … colorful ones. Just give me the bare bones. In other words, try not to scar me unnecessarily."

"Okay." Addison nods. "We'll try."

…

_The wind is whipping their hair, the sun is glowing and sinking at the same time, as the ferry makes its way across the water. Little salty droplets fly up and land on their cheeks; the air feels fresh and exhilarating as it only can on a ferry._

_They're standing a respectable distance from each other at the railing, looking out at the endless blue-grey sea._

" _You know … I enjoy ferryboats in an appropriate, platonic way," Derek says softly, smiling respectfully at Addison._

" _I know. So do I," she agrees, smiling back at her husband with noticeable decorum._

" _That's convenient," Derek notes politely._

" _It is. Also, I notice you look somewhat attractive … which I can handle without losing control," Addison says._

" _I feel the same way," Derek responds._

" _Thanks, honey."_

_Derek pats Addison's shoulder affectionately while keeping his distance. "Perhaps later we can engage in consensual marital activity," he suggests._

…

" _Consensual marital activity?_ How dumb do you think I am?"

"Weiss, you're the one who said we should try not to scar you!"

"Right. I didn't say you should tell me a fairytale."

" _Fine._ " Addison scowls and Derek glares at her. He should have known she would lay it on too thick.

"Okay. So what actually happened?"

"Basically that," Derek admits. "With a few tweaks."

" _Slight_  tweaks," Addison says defensively.

Weiss leans back in his chair. "Go ahead, then." He sighs and gestures for Addison to continue. "Tweak away."

…

_The wind is whipping their hair, the sun is glowing and sinking at the same time, as the ferry makes its way across the water. Little salty droplets fly up and land on their cheeks; the air feels fresh and exhilarating as it only can on a ferry._

_They're standing shoulder to shoulder at the railing, looking out at the endless blue-grey sea._

" _You know … I have a thing for ferryboats," Derek says softly, smiling at Addison with obvious intent._

" _Oh, I know. So do I," she agrees, smiling back at her husband and raising one eyebrow, an invitation if he's ever seen one. "And I also have a thing for you."_

" _That's convenient," Derek smirks._

" _It is. Especially when you wear blue … you know I can't handle you in blue," Addison reminds him._

" _Likewise," Derek responds, glancing down at the blue-patterned blouse visible between the lapels of her lightweight jacket._

" _Thanks, honey."_

_Derek curls a hand around Addison's shoulder, moving closer. "I've always had a thing for ferryboats … but I wouldn't mind leaving the boat behind and heading straight back to the hotel after this," he whispers, "assuming we have time before dinner for-"_

…

"Okay, keep it PG, please."

"You said to tell you what happened," Derek points out. "We weren't exactly arrested for petting a puppy."

Weiss sighs. "Fine. R, but that's my limit." He looks from one of his friends to the other. "You know, it's too bad  _R_ can't be  _your_  limit, at least in public."

Addison winces a little; the man has a point.

"Go on…"

…

" _And after that … I mean, once we work the kinks out and make sure nothing's broken, then what?"_

" _After that? I'll need a cigarette, I think," Derek concludes; they're both a little breathless after spending several nautical miles describing in precise detail what they plan to do to each other in their hotel room._

" _Derek, you haven't smoked a cigarette since 1981."_

" _True. But if we're really going to do all that before our dinner reservation … I might have to break my streak."_

_She giggles a little, then shivers._

" _Nervous?" he teases her._

" _Cold," she admits. The early spring weather is fickle, and her coat is light._

" _Here." Derek opens his own jacket and motions for her to slide in between him and the fabric like she used to. She slips an arm around his waist and curls in close to the warmth of his body._

" _Better?"_

" _Much." She hunches a little to warm as much of herself as possible, resting her cheek against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. It feels strong, steady …_

…  _maybe a little fast._

" _Derek?"_

" _Hm?" He's been playing with her hair with the arm not inside her coat, toying with the ends of the long strands. It's an absent gesture, sweet even, but for some reason each light tug is sending prickles of sensation down her neck, over her shoulders, and…_

" _Nothing," she says softly, then burrows a little closer, shivering slightly as his fingers apply pressure to the base of her skull, working through her long hair._

_He releases her hair and holds her tighter when she shivers. "It's not that cold, Addie."_

" _Who said I was cold?"_

_She feels him smile into her hair. "You're right, I should have known."_

_She wraps her arm more securely around his waist, ducking into his warmth, and they watch the water together, enjoying each other's company._

…

"Very sweet," Weiss says, sounding unimpressed. "Touching. Sav will love it. Funny, though, it doesn't really sound arrest-worthy."

"We told you we didn't deserve to be arrested."

"True." Weiss rubs the bridge of his nose. "You know who else says that?"

"Who?"

"Everyone who's ever been arrested."

Addison exhales heavily. "We're telling you the truth, Weiss."

"I believe you."

"You do?" Derek is confused.

"Sure. A little flirting and ferry snuggling? Easy to believe. Classic Derek and Addison."

"Addison and Derek," Addison corrects, shrugging when Derek glares at her in response.

"So yeah, I believe that happened," Weiss says. "But…"

Derek and Addison exchange a glance.

"…I don't believe for one second that's  _all_ that happened."

"Oh," Addison says faintly. "Well, um…"

…

" _Remember the first time we took a ferry together?"_

" _Of course I do." She feels his lips move against her hair. "It was the Circle Line, during Getting to Know You week."_

" _We did get to know each other that week, didn't we." Addison smiles at the memory._

" _We certainly did. I'm not sure Columbia really meant us to take the title of orientation so … literally, though."_

" _Literally? You mean biblically."_

" _That too."_

_Addison laughs. "We thought we were being so sly, in the upper wheelhouse by ourselves, but then Mark walked in and…"_

_Her voice trails off and she feels herself tense, annoyed that she brought him up. When things were going so well._

" _I'm sorry," she says in a small voice._

" _So was he," Derek responds mildly. "I'm not sure he'd seen that much of me since we were changing our swimsuits in the locker rooms in Tadpole League."_

" _I meant –"_

" _I know what you meant." Derek exhales heavily. "And I know you're sorry. Look, can we just … move on? Not dwell on it? At least while we're here."_

_Can they? Moving on is only all she's ever wanted since she landed in Seattle. "If that's what you want to do," she says tentatively. "I mean … it's your birthday."_

" _My birthday already happened … in an airplane bathroom," he reminds her._

…

"Wait, what about an airplane bathroom?" Weiss looks from one of them to the other.

"Nothing," Addison says hastily. "Forget it."

…

" _Actually, I was the only one in the airplane bathroom," Addison clarifies, "and you were waiting outside. Unnecessarily."_

" _Very necessarily," he corrects her, "on pilot's orders. You wanted me to start a fight with the pilot?"_

_Addison recalls the tall, distinguished, grey-haired pilot. Broad shoulders under his navy blue uniform jacket, silver wings clipped to his lapel, a nice tan, probably from jaunts to the Caribbean when he's not flying cross-country…_

" _Addison," he says curiously._

" _Um. Sorry." She pats his hip apologetically. "I was just thinking it wouldn't have been so bad for you to start a fight with Captain Silver Fox."_

" _Captain Silver Fox." He shakes his head. "That's disturbing. You do remember your father's nickname…"_

_She shoves him. "Don't be disgusting. The pilot is an actual captain. It's not some sailing nickname he uses to pick up girls."_

" _Fine, but you were just saying you wouldn't have minded … picking up that pilot."_

" _All I said was that I wouldn't have minded your wrestling him a little."_

" _Wrestling him!" Derek laughs, jostling her where she's pressed up against him, and she squeezes him a little tighter in response._

" _Yeah … wrestling him." She closes her eyes again, picturing it vividly. "You know, two glistening men, battling in a test of strength and wills. Mm, you know, like a … gladiator."_

…

"A gladiator?" Weiss makes a face. "Really?"

"I had more of a problem with  _glistening,_  actually," Derek notes and Weiss nods in agreement.

Addison says nothing, just presses her lips together primly.

"Wait." Weiss points an accusatory finger across the table. "Is that why you and Savvy saw that gladiator movie four times?"

"What movie?" Derek turns to Weiss.

" _Gladiator,_ " Weiss says. "Really creative title, by the way. Would you believe Savvy told me she liked the historical context?"

Addison smirks.

"Honestly." Weiss shakes his head. "What's so great about those guys, anyway? Ugh, it's that one actor, isn't it. I can't remember his name. You know who I mean …"

…

"… _Russell Crowe," she reminds him, winding her fingers into his curls. "You know, with your hair longer like that, you look…"_

" _Yes, I remember your saying something about that." He pauses. "The pilot? Really?"_

_She shrugs against him._

" _Hm. Good to know. Well, I'm sorry I didn't wrestle the pilot for you."_

" _Now there's a sentence you haven't said before." She smiles into the blue shirt she picked out for him, resting her hand higher now, against his heart. It's still a little fast, and she loves the way it feels against her palm. The top button of the shirt is open, and she can't really stop herself from tilting her face up to press her lips to the bare skin of his throat._

" _Addison…"_

_But she feels the hum of his voice against her mouth and it goes straight through her body, all the way from her tingling scalp down to her toes, which curl-_

…

"Isn't toe-curling just an expression?" Weiss glances from one of them to the other.

"Not when Derek's involved," Addison smirks.

Derek grins at her. "Thanks," he says, sounding pleased with himself.

"Thank  _you,_ " she replies.

"Okay, that's enough of that. Look, Derek," Weiss turns to his old friend. "Can't you just give me the facts, the – without all the embellishment and … girly things?"

"Girly things?" Addison raises her eyebrows. "That's sexist. I'm telling Savvy."

Weiss raises his eyebrows. "How do you plan to do that when you're locked up?"

"Oh." She considers this, and decides being nice to Weiss would be wise. "Honey, Weiss has a point. Why don't you take over the story."

"Fine." Derek shrugs.

…

_He's standing innocently on the deck of the ferry, thinking about the tax returns he'll need to file in just about a month, when Addison, completely without permission or encouragement, shocks him by kissing his neck._

…

"Okay, stop right there. You can't tell it in a  _totally biased_ way," Addison protests, looking to Weiss for support. "That's not fair. Right? That is completely self-serving. And not true."

Weiss shrugs.

"And anyway, we'd already moved on to the toe-curling … remember?"

"Fine," Derek sulks.

…

" _Addison, what do you think you're doing?" He draws back suspiciously._

…

"Derek, just tell the story straight," Weiss orders impatiently.

"No, it's okay, he really did say that," Addison confirms.

"Oh." Weiss considers this. "Playing dumb. I never knew that was your thing, Derek."

"I don't have just one  _thing_ ," Derek says with dignity.

"I guess that explains all the places you're banned."

"Anyway," Derek says hastily, "I'll just, uh, go on with the story."

"Please."

…

" _Nothing," Addison says silkily. Her voice is that honeyed purr that she knows drives him crazy. She's not supposed to use it in public, not anymore. That voice is like a weapon and should be registered, holstered, maybe even banned._

_Well. Not banned._

_She smirks at him and then burrows back under his jacket again. "It's cold," she explains._

_It's not. Under the jacket, it's getting quite warm, in fact. Maybe because Addison has pressed her lips to the skin between the open collar of his new shirt – again – or maybe because she's pressed her body against his –_

" _to get warm," she explains, unnecessarily –_

_But either way, cold is the least of his problems. It's not his fault, really, it's that he was twenty-two the first time he felt Addison's body press up against his on a ferryboat, and the combination of the whipping wind, salt air scent, and her pliant, heated curves takes him right back with a rush of hormones._

_He feels her laugh a little against him when he starts to respond._

" _So, should I assume you're happy to see me …are you just happy to see Staten Island?"_

" _I can't see Staten Island," he mutters as her hand lingers on his hip. "Not yet."_

" _Then I guess I'll take it as a compliment."_

" _Addison." He glances around. "We're not…"_

" _I'm not doing anything," she says innocently. "You're the one who can't keep it together on a ferryboat."_

_It's her fault again because the word ferryboat slipping out from between her smirking lips sends a rush of heat through his body – or maybe it's her body; it's hard to tell whose is whose right now since they're so closely pressed together under one jacket._

_Addison shift so she's flush against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He pulls the jacket tighter around both of them, but their new position isn't helping matters. Addison's height was always a bonus, since standing face to face made everything … line up so well, for lack of a more gracious term. But the last thing he wants right now, on a massive orange commuter ferry in broad daylight, is to 'line up' with the unmistakable source of the heat that's coursing through both of them._

" _Addie…"_

" _I'm cold again."_

" _You are not."_

" _So?" She tilts her head back, and he lowers his to kiss her without thinking._

…

"Did you ever consider that maybe  _thinking_ a little more would have kept you out of jail?"

"We're not  _in jail_ ," Addison reminds Weiss. "We're just in an interrogation room."

"Oh, that's much more respectable. My mistake." Weiss waves a hand. "Continue."

…

_The wind picks up, lifting Addison's long hair and tangling it around both their faces. Kissing her was always a risk for a mouthful of hair, but it was always worth it, too. She's doing something with her tongue now that feels like she's touching him everywhere at once, and when he pulls her closer and her softness melts against him he realizes they need to take it down a notch._

_He pulls away reluctantly; she makes a soft sound of disappointment._

" _Addie. Remember the Christmas tree lighting?"_

" _Of course I remember."_

" _We were never allowed back," he reminds her._

" _It was worth it, though."_

_"Yeah, I guess it was."_

_She glances at him._

" _No," he says firmly, and just then a few light drops start falling from the sky, and the deck empties, everyone else heading inside to stay out of the rain._

" _Derek …"_

" _No," he says firmly._

" _We're alone now."_

" _Just because we're the only ones willing to stand outside in the rain…"_

" _Maybe it's fate," she tells him. "It's meant to be."_

…

"You know, when Savvy said you were  _meant to be_ , she was being sweet. She meant it in a … nice way. She wasn't giving you license to get naked in public."

"We  _didn't get naked,_ " Addison insists tiredly, for what feels like the hundredth time. "Just listen ... please. We'll get there."

"Fine." Weiss glances at Derek. "Then what happened," he mutters, sounding like he would really rather not know.

…

" _That's not fair," Addison protests as she plays with the collar of his new shirt. "Yours is open more than mine."_

" _Always with the competition." He shakes his head._

" _Hey, no competition. You can win … as much as you want."_

" _Oh, really." He raises his eyebrows._

" _Assuming 'winning' is what you made me do in the hotel room, then … yes."_

_A slow smile spreads across his face. "Actually, I won in the hotel room too, as I recall, so I think that's called a tie."_

" _A tie it is, then."_

" _A tie," he confirms, and then his lips return to the soft skin at her neck, his fingers flicking open the top few buttons of her blouse. "There. We're even."_

" _Hey." She pulls back._

" _Stay close," he warns her. "You don't want to get cold."_

_She grins at him and steps back into his embrace; his coat is covering both of them as he dips her slightly with a firm hand at her back, cupping her skull with the other and exposing the tender skin of her throat._

" _It's not fair," she protests, gasping as his lips trail over sensitive skin._

_He pauses. "What's not fair?"_

_Her eyes look glazed. "I … don't remember."_

" _Thought so." He smirks and continues what he was doing before, pulling her in a little tighter so almost every inch of them is pressed together, concentrated softness every against him making his pulse speed up even more._

_He flicks open the rest of the buttons._

" _Derek!"_

" _No one can see. See?" He pulls her open blouse closed._

" _Okay."_

_Then he pulls her blouse open again and buries his face in softness without another word. She makes a sound that might be a protest but he can't really hear anything except his own heartbeat. Lace scratches his cheeks but it's worth it to feast on her while the cool wind whips their hair and light droplets fall around them. Her fingers are tangled in his hair now; he's taking on more of her weight as she softens against him._

_When he draws back she looks disappointed, and he grins at her. Her blouse is hanging limply open, her cheeks are flushed, the rosy skin he's just been exploring bearing numerous testaments to his handiwork. Gently, he rubs his thumb over one of the reddened spots and she hisses, then smiles. Leaning forward, ducking into his open jacket, she trails both her hands down the still-closed blue shirt she bought for him and, staring right at him as her fingers fly, makes short work of his belt._

" _Addison," he says weakly._

" _It's okay," she murmurs. "No one can see."_

_He's not sure that's true but he can't exactly argue, not when the rush of the speeding ferry is vibrating powerfully under his feet and her cool, competent hands are sliding into his waistband and –_

" _Addison!"_

_She moves closer, if possible. "Don't worry," she says, her voice soothing while her hands are doing exactly the opposite. "We're the only ones out here."_

…

"Didn't you hear me say  _stop_?"

"Oh. No," Derek says. "Sorry."

"I think I have the gist of the story," Weiss says stiffly, then sighs. "Does it, uh, does it get much worse?"

Addison and Derek exchange a glance.

"Not really," she says hesitantly.

…

_It gets much better. With Addison's back to the sturdy railing and Derek's strong arms holding her tightly, his open trench coat hiding both of them, it's easy to curl one leg around him and let him rock against her in a way that makes her muscles tighten and her eyelids flutter uncontrollably._

_One of his warm hands is traveling up her chilled thigh._

" _More lace," he observes when he meets resistance._

" _It's your birthday," she reminds him, her tone teasing._

" _Mm. Thank you, for that," he says, and brushes aside the scraps of fabric while she buries her face in his neck. Thank god for rain. And empty ferry decks. Because she's not sure if she could stop now if she wanted to, one of her hands wrapped around heated flesh – liberated just so from the fabric of his half-open trousers, they're still pretty much fully dressed._

_He tips her head back, holding her carefully, but the thrill of feeling the open air behind her sends another flood of excitement through her body. The feel of his stubble against sensitive skin he's already marked is driving her crazy._

" _Derek … " she tugs on his hair and he suckles harder in response, making her gasp._

_He looks up at her, grinning, and the lust in his hooded eyes goes straight through her._

" _Just … do it," she grinds out as his nimble fingers trace patterns on skin that's dying for more. Much more._

" _Just do it? That's not very polite." He lifts his head to kiss the tender skin on the side of her neck, first gently and then not so gently, and she hisses. "What's the magic word?"_

" _The magic word," she says doubtfully._

" _Yes, Addison." He grasps her thigh and lifts her a little higher against him; she sighs in anticipated pleasure but while she can feel him readying himself nothing more happens. "The magic word," he repeats, brushing against her just the slightest bit, which is cruel when he knows she's aching for more._

" _Please," she pants._

" _That's not it."_

" _What?" She lifts her head from his neck, confused. "Please is the magic word. It's always the magic word."_

" _If it were the magic word, wouldn't I be-"_

_The blaring of the ferry's whistle drowns out his descriptive phrasing, but she hears enough detail to make her blush._

" _Derek … the whistle … the boat's going to dock."_

" _Not yet," he assures her. "We have time … if you tell me the magic word."_

_"Derek!" She wriggles against him, trying to increase the friction she needs; he laughs and uses his free hand to pin her desperate hips against the railing. She groans. "You're really going to make me go all the way to Staten Island this frustrated?"_

" _That's the last thing I want," he murmurs against her neck, and she shivers. "So just figure out the magic word."_

_Argh! She's going to kill him. One of his fingers is brushing against her now, too lightly to come anywhere close to satisfaction but enough to remind her what he's capable of, and it's killing her. She's going to die of sexual frustration and then she won't even be able to have the satisfaction of killing him for tormenting her._

" _Derek!" She curses audibly as one of his fingers curls against her in a way that's just cruel. She bites her lip to stifle a moan and sees the effect the noise has on him. So two can play this game._

… _except she doesn't want to play a game. Because the ferry is going to dock way too soon for her liking and they'll have to disembark and the idea of doing that before he finally joins their bodies, fills the empty space that's pleading for him, is too much to bear. He seems to sense her growing desperation because he's teasing her again, his heated flesh brushing against her, but he's still pinioning her hips so she can't draw him in where she wants him, and then his lips are on her neck again, and the scratchiness at the top of her body combined with silken steel teasing her at the center is too much, it's too much, she can't-_

" _Ferryboat!" She blurts, so loudly he jumps a little since his ear is so close to her mouth, but when he draws back he's grinning._

" _Very good," he says, "you figured out the magic word." And before she can respond he's lifted her leg higher around him and his mouth is on hers and –_

_(finally, freaking finally)_

_she sighs in exquisite relief as he pushes deeply inside her._

_It's everything but it's not enough, all at once. "More," she begs, digging her heels into him and he lifts her other leg, bracing her hard against the ferry railing; she's going to have some interesting bruises later but it's more than worth it because in this position their bodies are basically one, she feels wonderfully, perfectly full as his hips move against hers like only his can, it's slow and deep and she lets her head dangle back over the railing, the breeze in her hair and salt on her face, it would feel dangerous except she knows he's holding her up. She knows he'll keep her safe. And her whole body is on fire; he knows her so well, he knows just how to tease her but also how to get it done when he needs to – efficient, that's Derek, when necessary, and just as she feels her muscles start to seize up, her shaking lips starting to form his name, an unfamiliar and deeply unwelcome sound rips through her reverie._

" _Help!" shouts a woman's voice. "Help! Coast Guard! There are … sex maniacs on this boat!"_

…

"So you see," Derek says meekly, "how it all comes back to wrestling.

"Oh, yeah." Weiss rolls his eyes. "It all makes perfect sense now."

"And you see that we never took off any of our clothes," Addison adds quickly.

"Yeah … not sure how much of a defense that is, Addie. Although, I will say I'm grudgingly impressed."

Addison shrugs modestly. "Not our first time."

"I'm aware," Weiss says grimly. Then he pauses. "I guess that's how Savvy…"

"Oh yeah," Addison admits with no small amount of pride. "I taught her how to do that."

Weiss considers this. "I'll wait to thank you until it's all over."

"Okay." She stares at her hands. "But Weiss, we weren't hurting anyone! Don't you see that if that woman hadn't screamed and called us sex maniacs, this never would have happened."

"Okay, first of all, I think it's more like if the two of you hadn't felt the need to get busy on a public ferry, this never would have happened. Plus … while that woman might have been blunt, be honest, Addie … was she inaccurate?"

Addison frowns and doesn't answer.

"So then you were arrested."

"By some very sarcastic officers," Addison says.

"Sarcastic? NYPD? I'm shocked," Weiss responds.

More sarcasm. They really are back in New York.

" _Anyway,_ we were arrested and they brought us here and … and now we might miss our dinner reservations!"

"Your dinner reservations." Weiss shakes his head. "That's your takeaway from all this?" He pauses. "Let me guess. You told the officers you need to make your reservation."

"I thought they should know!" Addison gives Weiss her most innocent smile, then sighs. "It's  _Fourchette,_ Weiss. We flew three thousand miles for this."

"Really? I thought you flew three thousand miles to besmirch an innocent commuter vessel."

"We did not," Addison says with dignity, " _and_ it's Derek's birthday, and he shouldn't have to spend it behind bars."

"Look, I'll make you a deal. I'll do my best to get you out of here in time for your reservation … and the two of  _you_  come to Sunday brunch tomorrow."

"What kind of deal is that? Weiss, how do you make the big bucks if this is your idea of negotiating?"

"We're on the same side here," he explains. "The thing is, Savvy really wants to see you. She misses you. And she wants you to come over for brunch like the old days: bagels, schmear, schmoozing…"

Derek agrees hastily before Weiss starts using Yiddish words he  _doesn't_  know. "That sounds great. Yes. Of course. Right, Addie?"

"Right," she says immediately. "It would be great to see Savvy. And to see you somewhere, you know, a little more comfortable."

For a moment all three gaze around the cinder-block walls, stained linoleum floor, and harsh, eerily flickering fluorescents.

"Okay." Weiss puts both hands flat on the table then and pushes his chair back – wincing slightly at the noise. It's clearly not the top-of-the-line ergonomic setup he's used to at the firm. "I'll go talk to the officers."

"Great," Addison says warmly, "thank you so much. We'll just wait here for you."

Weiss has one hand on the door. "Um …"

…

"This is  _completely_  absurd. And unnecessary," Addison calls, gripping the iron bars of the holding cell. "Do you hear me, officer? It's also outrageous."

"You tell 'em, sister," slurs the clearly drunk woman curled up on the wooden bench at the back of the cell.

"You don't understand," Addison explains to her … cellmate, reasonably. "This is all a mistake. See, I'm not supposed to be here."

"Yeah? Me either." Her cellmate stretches sleepily, which, in the strip of magenta fabric that Addison supposes was once a tube top doesn't leave much to the imagination.

"I mean,  _I_  didn't do anything wrong," Addison clarifies, averting her eyes politely.

"Oh, you think I did?" The woman starts to sit up and Addison notices that she's quite a bit bigger than she originally thought, with some serious triceps. And deltoids.

"No, of course you didn't," Addison says hastily. "It's just … " She lowers her voice to a whisper. " _I didn't get naked,_ " she explains.

"You stick to that story, honey," the other woman mumbles approvingly, then slumps back onto the bench, her short skirt riding up so much Addison wonders if she might get arrested a second time.

"Hey! Is anyone out there? Can you let me out, please?" Addison tries to rattle the bars but apparently that's only in cartoons; these bars are rock solid.

"Would you keep it down in there?" An officer she doesn't recognize ambles over, glaring at her.

"But I shouldn't be locked up," she protests.

"Riiight, you're the first perp who's ever said that. Let me just get my keys," he says sarcastically.

"I am not a  _perp_ ," she corrects him with dignity. "I'm a surgeon."

"Yeah?" He looks her up and down. "Remind me to stay out of your hospital. I'm not sure it's …  _sanitary._ "

"I wasn't naked!" she calls after his broad retreating back, annoyed that she can hear him chuckling. Must  _everyone_  think the worst of them?

She wonders how Derek is doing. The men's holding cell is around the corner, so she can't see him. Hopefully he's faring better than she is.

…

"Now  _that_ one probably needs some follow-up," Derek says tiredly as he examines his fifth mole on his second stranger since the iron door swung shut, trying to keep his distance from the bare skin in front of him. "The other one looks fine. But remember, I'm a neurosurgeon, not a dermatologist."

"Thanks, doc." The other man pulls up his pants. "It's great having you around for those hard-to-reach areas."

The third man, some of whose moles were quite difficult to find in the midst of impressive hirsutism, nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah … great," Derek echoes weakly.

"Hey, what are you in for, anyway, doc? You writing bad prescriptions?" The hirsute man looks worryingly eager. "You got anything on you right now?"

"No, and  _no_ ," Derek says hastily. "I'm in here because … well, it's all just a big misunderstanding."

"What a coincidence," says the less hirsute man, "that's what I'm in for too."

"Me too."

Derek sighs, peering through the bars hoping for a glimpse of Weiss coming to rescue him. Of course, he reminds himself nobly, he hopes Weiss will rescue Addison first if it comes to that. And he reminds himself to tell Addison that too, later. After all … it's probably what a gladiator would do.

…

Addison looks up excitedly at the sound of footsteps. The uniformed officer is unsmiling, which worries her, but then he jangles a large keyring as he rattles the lock on the iron door.

"You're letting us go?" Addison asks hopefully.  _Thank you, Weiss. I guess they don't pay you the big bucks for nothing, even though it's pretty ridiculous that you make more than Derek when he actually opens up people's brains for a living, but if you can get us out of this…_

"Go?" The officer smirks. "No. Well.  _Go_  back to the interrogation room, yes."

At least it's better than nothing, and definitely better than the holding cell, although now she'll never get to hear the end of her cellmate's story about the rave in Red Hook where three different guys-

"Addie! Are you okay?"

She gives Derek her bravest and most noble smile as he catches up to her in the hallway, like the kind of strong but sensitive maiden a gladiator would kill another gladiator to win. "I'm okay, honey. I mean, it was tough in there, really tough, but I just kept telling myself that-"

"You were in a holding cell for twenty minutes, Addison." Weiss rolls his eyes, hustling them both down the hall to the interrogation room behind the uniformed officer. "Maybe hold off on practicing for the inspirational talk show tour."

" _Fine_."

In the doorway to the unfortunately familiar box of an interrogation room, Addison glances nervously at the handcuffs dangling from their chaperoning officer's belt.

But the officer just nods at Weiss and leaves them alone, closing the door behind him.

"No handcuffs?" Addison asks brightly.

"No … but don't tempt me," Weiss says when he sees Addison tuck her hand into the crook of Derek's arm, leaning against him with relief.

"Sorry," she says quickly, pulling back. Weiss might be a  _teeny_ bit sensitive, but he's being such a good friend that she'll let it slide.

"So." Addison leans forward, elbows propped on the table. "Did you get us a deal? Did you plead us down?"

Weiss lifts an eyebrow.

"I used to watch some  _Law & Order _in the lounge when I was on overnight call," she admits. "It was good background for studying."

"Oh. Well. That explains a lot." Weiss leans back in his chair. "What I was able to get you is a desk appearance ticket."

"Like a traffic ticket?" Addison asks eagerly.

"Sort of ... but not quite. It means can get out of here as soon as you sign, and you're free until your court appearance. Which is a week from Tuesday."

Addison's eyes widen. "But we're supposed to fly back tomorrow."

"You turn down the DAT, you get city hospitality until your arraignment." Weiss gestures around the interrogation room. "You want to sit here another twenty hours, and then show your face in court looking like that?"

"Hey." Addison frowns. "I don't look that bad."

"You look great," Derek assures her, and she smiles at him.

"I thought you were dying to get cleaned up," Weiss reminds her. "Let me tell you, the showers where they'll send don't exactly have Kiehl's products."

"Weiss," Derek cuts in hastily. "It sounds like this is the best alternative to …" he pauses. "Well, to just letting us go."

"They were never just going to let you go."

"Don't they have bigger crimes to worry about? Terrorists?"

"Why don't you ask them that," Weiss proposes wearily. "I bet they'd love a little triage advice from you."

Addison presses her lips together. "Okay, fine. I'm just saying, Weiss, you kept a man who constructed an entire fraudulent scheme over twelve years out of jail, but we still get a desk appearance ticket?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Savvy sent me an article about it," she shrugs. "That was a good picture of you."

"Oh." Weiss looks mollified. "Well. That was nice of you to read it. And anyway, he was arraigned. Trust me. And just so you know ... even Club Fed doesn't have Kiehl's products."

"Okay. Desk appearance ticket. Court date next week." Addison winces, but does her best to square her shoulders bravely. "We can do this. And, um, at the court appearance…"

"My buddy will be there. I will too, but trust me, he'll get you off. Two surgeons with no record – well, no public one anyway? You'll be fine. But you'll have to stick around until your court date."

"Okay." Addison exchanges a glance with Derek. "We can do that ... right?"

He nods.

"Good," Weiss says, "because I had to convince the officers you weren't a flight risk, even though you have round-trip tickets."

"I'll change the flights."

"As soon as you can, please."

Addison smiles with relief at Derek. They can do this. Okay, it's an extra … nine days in Manhattan, but if it means their charges will be dropped and, most importantly that they won't have to spend any more time in their respective holding cells, then it's worth it.

"And listen. This is important. One of the conditions of getting out of here is that you have to stay out of trouble until then," Weiss instructs them. "Any funny business and that DAT disappears and you're right back here."

"We'll be good," Addison promises hastily, and Derek nods vigorously with the expression of a particularly pious altar boy. It's nine days. And they're not  _criminals._ They're highly respected, (mostly) law-abiding physicians.

This will be easy.

"And, hey, guys –" Weiss puts out a hand to get their attention. "That means no taking off, opening, moving aside, or altering your clothing in public, and it also means that any and all sexual activity is to be strictly confined to the  _indoors_  … with the doors locked."

… okay, maybe it won't be that easy after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more.


	4. old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Addek Take Manhattan (And Each Other) (Again)

_Dear Richard,  
A funny thing happened on the way to Staten Island._

Ugh, no, that's terrible. She deletes it.

_Dear Richard,  
So, you know how people are always talking about work-life balance these days? Well, Derek and I need to take at least seven unscheduled days off. Maybe eight. For … normal reasons._

No. Delete again. She presses her thumb to the backspace key and makes another poorly worded draft email disappear.

_Dear Richard,  
"If you can make it there, you'll make it anywhere," except in our case we did make it here but we're not going to make it back to Seattle for a week and a half. Ironic, right?_

Delete, delete, delete. If for no other reason than she's not sure she's using  _ironic_ correctly. And this isn't the type of email she's going to run by Savvy, her personal word usage guru.

_Dear Richard,  
I'm sorry to tell you that Derek is in the hospital. It's serious, life-threatening, but he should make a full recovery by the 11 a.m. flight next Wednesday._

No, that's cruel … and pretty ridiculous too. Delete.

Okay. Maybe honesty really  _is_ the best policy. Richard's been encouraging them to work on their marriage, hasn't he?

_Dear Richard,  
How serious were you when you said you hoped Derek and I would 'make every effort to reconnect'? Because, funny story –_

"Addison!" Derek snatches the blackberry away from her; he's apparently been reading over her shoulder. "That is  _not_ what you're telling Richard."

"Fine," she snaps. "You write the email, then. Go ahead and tell him two department heads need eight days off with no notice for  _no_  reason. That'll go over well."

"Just tell him we need to take time off."

"Oh, really? Thank you, Derek, I never would have thought of that."

His brows knit. "For someone who was begging me for it about, oh, three hours ago, you seem pretty pissed off at me now."

"I wasn't  _begging_ you for it," Addison corrects him. "I was being polite."

"Polite!" He chuckles. "So that's your story. I'm sorry, did I miss the chapter in Emily Post where she talks about having sex on a ferryboat?"

Addison stands up to her full height. "I'm not going to argue about this."

She's tired. Too tired to argue with Derek. After Weiss mercifully secured their release, he insisted on escorting them personally back to their hotel in a cab – sitting between them, and keeping up a running monologue about a nasty abscess on a rather personal part of his father-in-law's person, presumably to ensure neither Addison nor Derek found anything erotic about their journey.

(Unfortunately for Weiss, he may not have realized that doctors are immune to attempts at medical gross-outs. He did figure it out eventually, though, hissing into Addison's ear at a stoplight that she was not in fact caressing  _Derek's_  calf with her bare foot. Oops.)

Weiss said his farewell to them in the lobby, reminding them to behave – if not until their court date, at least until tomorrow morning. "Savvy's looking forward to seeing you," he reminded them. "Don't disappoint her by ending up in the clink again, because –  _Addison,_ " he said sharply. "I can  _see_  you."

"Sorry," she muttered, withdrawing her hand from Derek's back pocket, and they promised Weiss they'd be good as they darted into the lobby and managed to make it back to their room without violating the terms of their parole. And then she'd gone straight into the bathroom to wash every drop of their run-in with the law from her body.

One thing's for sure … she has reason to be exhausted. And it's not just jail. There was the flight, with the unnecessarily judgmental flight attendant. And then the carefully planned ferryboat ride ruined by some overreacting bystanders and overzealous cops. But of course, there's also jail.

_Jail._ Addison shudders a little.

"I'm going to take a shower," she tells Derek.

"You already took one right when we walked in the door."

"Well, I need another one. Derek …  _jail,_ " she adds when her husband looks skeptical.

"Fine," he shrugs.

She tightens her robe and heads for the bathroom, then turns around. "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Based on your mood … I'm thinking not," he mutters, but he grabs a towel and joins her anyway.

…

"I thought you were mad at me," Derek says as he opens the bottle of shampoo.

"I am," Addison confirms, tilting her head back under the hot spray.

"Then why-"

"I still need someone to wash my back."

"And what do you do when I'm not here, Addie? Just let the filth build up?"

"Very funny," she glares.

"Oh, right … I forgot what you  _actually_ do when I'm not here. You find a replacement."

He regrets it as soon as he says it – they've been getting along, for them, absolutely swimmingly since they landed in New York.

Now Addison looks hurt when she turns to him, though the effect is somewhat lost by the comical amount of suds in her hair.

"I thought you were done taking cheap shots at me."

Derek hesitates, then reaches out to swipe a dripping gob of bubbles before it gets in her eyes. "Sorry. I guess I wasn't done."

He urges her back under the water, feeling a little bad, and moves his fingers along her scalp while the jets make short work of the remaining suds.

"Thanks," she murmurs when he's done, sounding almost shy.

(Which, considering what they've been doing – and talking about doing, and thinking about doing, and trying to do – since they left Seattle, is pretty impressive.)

"You know what we should do – we should send Weiss flowers," Addison says abruptly.

Derek's face must show his confusion; he'd expected her to finish that sentence with something a lot more graphic.

To say the least.

"He rescued us," Addison reminds him. "Plus, he apparently hasn't forgotten that we had sex in his bed."

"We were house-sitting."

"And at his nephew's bar mitzvah."

"We were  _celebrating._ "

"And in his car."

"He doesn't seem to know about that," Derek says hastily, "but really, he's complicit in that one – why else would you buy a Ferrari?"

"Because boys like to waste money on sports cars?"

"Yes, but  _why_ do they like to waste money on sports cars?" He raises his eyebrows; Addison rolls her eyes in response. "See, it all comes back to-"

"Yes, understood, no need to spell it out." She hands Derek a jar. "Are you going to wash my back or not?"

She moves her wet hair off her neck so her entire long back is exposed, from the nape of her elegant neck to the dip at base of her spine before the flesh curves gently outward, and-

"Derek."

"Right," he says quickly. "Washing."

Of course it's Addison, so it can't be actual soap or anything normal, it's a glass jar of palest green – something, and when he unscrews the top and scoops out a few fingerfuls it already starts dissolving. Hastily, he applies whatever-it-is to her back and her skin is almost immediately covered in plush suds that smell of lemongrass and sage.

"More," she urges.

He avoids saying  _that's what got us into trouble in the first place,_ and just complies.

To prevent an argument.

That's all.

Not because her skin is satin underneath the outrageous foaming of whatever is in that jar; there seem to be tiny crystals within it that leave her even silkier than she was before. Not because of the little breaths that escape her, audible somehow under the pounding water, when his fingers dig into her sore muscles. Not because of the way she arches her back and presses her flesh closer to his hands, the word  _more_ without speaking, and-

"Ow!"

"Sorry." He pulls his hands away immediately, then returns them carefully, to her back, curious about what made her so sensitive.

"Funny story," she says, sounding like it's not very funny at all, "I had a run-in with a ferryboat railing."

He winces, running his fingers very lightly along the bruises that have already started to form. "You should have told me."

"No."

"Why? I would have stopped."

" _That's_  why," she turns to grin at him. "I didn't want you to stop. Hey – don't feel too bad yet, honey. You may be more injured before the night is up."

He smiles back. "We should pace ourselves," he warns her when he sees the intent in her eyes. The suds are all gone now but the shower is filled with fragrant steam and pounding water, and it's distracting.  _She's_ distracting.

"Why?" Her lower lip extends the barest fraction of a millimeter, not enough for anyone else but him to call a pout.

"Because I'm not a machine," he says patiently.

"Really?"

"Addison…" She has that look in her eyes that suggests she's up to no good, and she crosses the vast open shower alcove to snatch something from the shelf. "Wait. What are you doing with my towel?"

"Folding it," she says cheerfully.

She is, indeed, folding it – which doesn't exactly make anything she's doing clearer – and then she's setting it in a soft, wet rectangle on the floor of the shower, and now she's sliding down his body until she can rest her hands on his thighs and –

_Oh._

"See?" She draws back and touches her slightly swollen lips; for a moment they're twenty-two in medical school again. "I told you we don't need to pace ourselves."

"You win," he concedes, sliding his fingers back into her wet hair.

When she's finished and he's mentally thanked every overprivileged jerk at the country club on whom she practiced to develop such … impressive … skills, he pulls her gently to her feet, then encourages her to sit on the higher of the two shower benches.

She flinches at the cold marble, then seems to appreciate its contrast with the streams of hot water.

He notices that the skin on her knees is reddened and he massages it gently with his thumbs, then lifts her thighs slightly so he can lean forward to kiss each kneecap gently.

"War wounds already," he observes, and she smiles. "I thought we were going to limit injuries."

"We could buy some knee pads."

He shakes his head. "I don't trust us to make it out of the store, and Weiss says we can't screw – I mean, screw up – again."

"Oh. That's a good point."

He's gone from soothing the skin on her kneecaps to massaging her thighs.

"Derek…"

"Why should you get to have all the fun?"

…

It's a good question. And it's not one she has time to contemplate, because her skin is already tingling at the contrast between the cold marble seat and the hot stream of water pulsing around her, and then his lips are cold but his mouth is warm and he's trailing kisses along the inside of her thighs.

She should stop him, because they need to get ready for dinner, and she's not exactly getting closer to ready this way.

He pulls her forward, steadying hands along her hips, the outside of her thighs, and then urges her legs further apart.

She's certainly not going to stop him now.

And even though she's never fired a gun, she's pretty sure she'd shoot anyone who  _tried_ to stop him now.

Her head falls back against the marble wall and she yelps.

He looks up, and the lust in his eyes is almost enough to drive her over the edge. "Keep going," she pants.

"Your head…"

"I'm fine. I know a neurosurgeon who can look at it later.  _Keep going._ "

"Bossy," he scolds her, and she just smirks, hoping she's not concussed or at least, if she is, that she can stay conscious long enough to …

He's the one to yelp this time.

"Sorry," she squeaks.

"Just leave  _some_ hair on my scalp, please," he mutters, and she tries not to smile at his watering eyes.

"It's your fault for torturing me," she says defensively.

"Then I guess it's worth it," he shrugs, and before she can come up with a retort, much less utter one, he's returned his warm lips to her flesh and the power of speech suddenly seems way beyond her.

She manages to gasp his name. "Derek – the – reservation," she pants the words; only the incredibly hard to get table at  _Fourchette_ could be worth breaking her reverie.

"Don't worry. I'm on top of it."

That rather  _is_ what she's worried about – or that he'll end up on top of  _her_ anyway, and they'll miss the reservation, but then her returns to feast on her.

And she realizes that in this position he can hold her in place, the marble of the shower keeping her from bucking away, and it's agonizingly pleasurable and erotically efficient all at the same time. She's well aware of his skills in this department, but adding in time management is enough to make her swoon.

As in …  _swoon._

She blinks back to reality to see him looking smug, stroking her legs and smiling lazily.

"Don't be  _too_  pleased with yourself," she frowns.

"True." He drops a friendly kiss on the inside of one thigh and then smirks when she shudders. "Clearly, we're just getting started."

She straightens up as much as she can. "What happened to  _I'm not a machine?_ "

"I'm not," he says. " _I'm_  not," he corrects. "You might be. I don't know. I'm still testing that hypothesis. I'm a  _scientist,_ " he adds with dignity, standing up enough to kiss the side one breast and then suck pebbled flesh into her mouth – this time, remembering to cup the back of her head so she doesn't bang it into the marble behind her.

She analyzes his inflection as best she can when her whole body is still tingling from what he did to her. Cautiously flexing her cramped toes, she looks up at him from under her wet hair.

"Reservation," she reminds him.

"Right." He lifts her down from the ledge, holding her against his body for just a moment, but it's enough for a flicker of excitement to be awakened in him.

"Derek…"

"Sorry." He sets her down on the fluffy white bathmat. "I'm leaving before I cause any more problems."

She smiles at him as he walks out of the bathroom, the muscles in the back of his thighs flexing, and above them …

"Derek!" She grabs a towel and jogs after him. "Wait for me!"

He turns around with a quizzical look on his face, just in time for her to tackle him to the rumpled white sheets.

_Dear Michel,  
I hope you know how much I appreciated your securing us a table at Fourchette for dinner tonight. Unfortunately, due to truly shocking unforeseen circumstances far beyond our control_

Too flowery. Delete.

_Dear Michel,_  
_Please accept my apologies for missing our reservation tonight. We are devastated. My husband had to perform a top-secret emergency surgery on a visiting diplomat_

No. Too easily figured out. And maybe a little too James Bond-ish, too. Mm, James Bond. She pauses for a moment to imagine Derek twirling a smoking pistol and sliding into an Aston Martin. In a tux. Then she forces herself to focus.

_Dear Michel,  
I feel absolutely terrible that we missed our reservation. I know that whoever took our table was very lucky and we certainly hope that_

"What?" She looks up when she sees Derek reading the blackberry over her shoulder.

"Nothing," he says. "Just … you don't really  _look_ like you feel terrible."

"Oh." She's still sprawled out on the vast white bed, the sheets of which have at this point passed from  _rumpled_ to  _disarray beyond repair._ Her thighs are parted to bring a much needed breeze to fiery skin, her head is resting on Derek's bare chest, and she can't seem to keep her lips from curving upwards.

"You're right," she admits. "I'm lying. I don't feel terrible. Isn't that terrible? We flew all the way out here for the reservation and I don't even feel terrible. It's terrible, Derek. Do  _you_ feel terrible?"

"Addison." His hand is resting on the top of her head. "The word  _terrible_  has lost all meaning. Plus, you're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you babble after …" his voice trails off.

"You love the thing!"

"The thing is inconvenient when you're trying to be quiet and subtle."

"We don't have to be quiet and subtle. We're in our hotel room."

"Oh. That's right." She wriggles around to see that Derek looks relieved. "You know, maybe Weiss had a point about this sticking to private spaces thing," he says.

A knock on the door interrupts them.

"Ooh, room service is here. Finally. I'm starving." Addison bounds out of bed and heads for the door.

" _Addison,_ " Derek hisses at her retreating back. "You are  _naked._ "

"I am?" She glances down. "Oh. I am. I didn't notice."

"Well, I think whoever is at the door will notice, so would you please…"

"Yes. Of course." She grabs one of the terrycloth robes they discarded earlier, reveling for a moment in the softly thick fabric – and reminding herself to leave an excellent review on  _Thousand Count Sheets,_ her favorite prestige hotel booking site.

"Madame," the man says, looking, Addison thinks, rather judgmental. Perhaps he's one of those men who thinks woman should only consume salad, and thinks their order of steak frites, champagne, and strawberries is overly indulgent.

(Or maybe it's the extra-large bowl of freshly whipped cream they ordered on the side.)

Either way, she tilts her chin up and maintains her dignity as she signs for the tray, then gestures for the waiter – who is young, and smirking quite unfairly – to bring it in.

Derek is sitting up in bed, the covers pulled to his waist, and smiles weakly at the waiter's knowing gaze.

"Shall I leave the tray here, Madame?" The waiter gestures with his chin toward the bed.

The nerve!

Addison is about to tell the waiter where he can put the tray – or at least that he should put it on the table  _and_ he should respect his elders – when she realizes that she does actually want it on the bed.

Damn it. Must she be so transparent?

"Yes, that would be fine. Thank you," she responds coolly, hoping she's not blushing too visibly.

"Will, uh, will that be all, Madame?" The waiter's gaze flickers from Derek, propped up in bed, to Addison in her robe. She tightens the sash self-consciously.

"My husband is ill," she says as authoritatively as possible.

"I'm terribly sorry. Would you like me to summon a doctor?"

"No," Addison says hastily, "that won't be necessary."

"The hotel offers  _exclusive_  concierge medical services to our guests."

"I believe you," she assures him, "but he'll be fine. Really."

"If you're certain," the waiter says, scanning Derek from the top of his violently mussed hair to the white-knuckled fingers clenched on the duvet. "He does look rather … worn out."

"Nope, he always looks like that." Addison smiles in what she hopes is an innocent, convincing way, ignoring Derek's glare, and grabs the leather booklet to sign for their meal.

…

"Why did you have to stay in bed all … furtive when he came in?" Addison accuses as soon as the door closes, mercifully, behind the waiter.

Derek finds his gaze flicking downward, feeling a bit embarrassed.

" _Seriously_?"

"Seriously," he admits.

"Why?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"It's an  _I'm Not a Machine_ question."

"I think it's … your hair, actually."

"My hair?" She glances in the mirror. "What about it?"

Derek twirls a finger, indicating she should turn around, and she does, peering over her shoulder …

… at the biggest rat's nest he's seen in her hair since the third night of their honeymoon.

Gingerly, she pokes at the complicated snarl.

"You could have warned me."

"You were already opening the door; you barely managed to cover your-"

"Fine," she cuts him off, then covers her face with her hands. "Oh, god. He clearly thought we were sex fiends."

"I have a piece of paper that says that's exactly what we are."

"No. We haven't been convicted yet." She shakes her head. "Our standards have really slipped."

"So has your robe," he points out, and she looks down to see rosy skin peeking out from one lapel. "Ugh!" She reaches to tighten the sash but he covers her hand and somehow the robe falls open even more.

Smiling, she eases back down onto the bed, letting Derek skim the rest of the robe from her shoulders. He kisses the side of her neck as she leans over him, the non-snarled part of her hair brushing his bare chest.

He closes his eyes.

And she apparently takes advantage of that, because the next thing he knows something cold and sweet is pressing against his closed lips. Automatically, he parts them, and the juice of a perfectly sweet strawberry explodes into his mouth.

Silently he thanks Addison for her ridiculously expensive taste in hotels – he's pretty sure their room service bill is going to approach four digits, but it's worth it for whatever intensely environmentally unfriendly process brought them these perfect strawberries out of season.

Slowly, he finishes the strawberry and waits for her to withdraw the stem, then sucks the juice from her fingers, enjoying the sound of her indrawn breath.

"We should eat the steak before it gets cold," she says.

"Really?"

"Nah." She takes another strawberry from the crystal bowl and this time she nibbles herself at the tip before her parting her deliciously mobile lips. Watching the fruit disappear between them then her tongue swipe at a fleck of juice is awfully distracting.

_Terribly_ distracting, even, if the word hadn't lost all meaning already.

She missed a drop of red juice, he notices. It drips slowly along her jaw and then falls to her collarbone. He tugs her forward and makes short work of it with his tongue, then reaches for another strawberry, plucks off the stem, and places the pointed tip in her mouth. She smiles around the fruit and then gasps a little when he leans forward to suck the other end into his mouth, kissing her around the shared berry – first gently, then more fiercely, strawberry sweetness bursting into both their mouths.

"Mm." She grins at him when he pulls back. "Delicious."

"My thoughts exactly." He laps a little extra juice from the corner of her mouth, then kisses her again. Reaching for the cut-glass bowl of freshly whipped cream, he scoops a small amount onto his finger.

"Stop-"

"Really?"

"We should put down a towel."

"I'll be careful," he promises.

"Derek, the last time you said that, I had to get an emergency pregnancy test at the university clinic."

Ignoring her protest, he eases her gently away from him and then dabs a fingerful of whipped cream on each of the rosy buds that keep catching his eye, taking his time to lick each one clean so thoroughly that you could perform surgery on her chest.

Her eyes flutter when he finishes. "Still want to stop?"

"No," she admits. "Ass," she adds, glaring at him.

He responds by popping open the champagne – which makes her shriek – and pouring a small amount of foaming bubbly liquid into one of the flutes on the tray. "That language. From a  _lady._ We need to wash your mouth out with champagne, I think."

"A  _lady_?"

"You weren't one in the shower, that's for sure," he agrees cheerfully, and when she starts to retort he holds the flute to her lips; she relents and takes a sip. Then he does. Then he sucks her champagne-cold tongue into his mouth, and she tastes fizzy and exciting. He grabs another berry and offers her a bite; when she's nibbled off the tip, he trails the succulent open end of the berry across her lips, then down her jaw, her neck, over her collarbone –

"Derek, I'm getting all sticky."

"Good," he deadpans, "but is the strawberry juice bothering you?"

"Very funny."

He takes advantage of her parted lips to pop the rest of the strawberry into her mouth, and then cleans up the sticky juice from her impossibly soft skin. He spends a lot of time on her neck, nipping at the spot he knows drives her crazy and sliding his other hand down the soft curve of her waist to hold her in place.

"Enough teasing," she says finally, pulling back.

"I don't think so." He raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I do," she insists.

He considers her words. "I guess we're at an impasse, then."

She folds her arms. "I guess so. Derek, what are you –"

He's lifted the tray from the bed easily, placed it on the ottoman of the nearby chair, and then pounced onto her. "Let's wrestle for it."

She laughs in spite of herself, and he lets her gain a temporary advantage, enjoying the feel of her flexing muscles as she presses herself against him, and then flips them both over, stretching her arms over her head and pinning her wrists.

"You were saying?" He drawls.

"That's not fair. You outweigh me."

"There's a steak and a bowl of whipped cream waiting for us that could change all that."

She giggles, and he dips his head to kiss her. She turns her head away. "No more teasing."

" _Lots_ more teasing," he corrects her. "I won fair and square."

"Fair and square, is that what they're calling it these days?"

He takes advantage of her turned head to kiss a trail down her neck, shifting her wrists to hold them in one of his hands and freeing the other to trail lazy circles down her side.

She hums with pleasure, her hips rising to meet his, and he doesn't protest when she curls a leg around his waist and tries to draw them closer.

He doesn't help either, and he laughs when she wriggles with frustration.

"Be patient."

"You know I'm bad at that!"

"You're  _Addison Shepherd,_ " he reminds her. "You're not bad at anything."

She seems slightly mollified by this, though she gasps when he dips his head again, this time taking a rosy nipple into his mouth. He slides his free hand under her back, lifting her against him so that he's surrounded by softness, and then releases her wrists to palm her other breast. She's still arching up toward him, trying to find the friction that he's denying her. He presses her hips back to the bed, grinning at her.

"You're enjoying this," she accuses him.

He glances down. "I guess I can't deny that."

"Sadist." She tries to trap him with her powerful thighs and he pulls away just in time.

"Masochist," he teases, flipping her over and straddling her hips, then sweeping her hair aside to suckle at the base of her neck.

She groans into the pillow and he takes pity on her; instead of laughing at her, he removes his weight from her body and then, without discussion, urges her thighs apart and plunges two grateful fingers into heavenly, welcoming warmth.

"Derek!"

"Yes?"

"How about a little warning?"

"This whole weekend is a warning," he points out.

She can't seem to think of an argument. "Fine," she huffs, "just don't stop."

"Bossy," he says again, twisting his fingers and making her gasp. "Bossy, bossy, bossy." He punctuates each iteration of the word with a nip at the sensitive skin of her neck, and she twists under him, straining backwards against his hand.

"Derek, I swear to god, if you don't finish what you started, I am going to set an alarm for the middle of the night and cut off every single-"

A loud knock on the door interrupts her colorful threat; they jump apart.

"Who's that?"

"I don't know," she hisses.

"Derek and Addison Shepherd?" A voice calls. "Please open the door."

"Oh god. It's the cops, isn't it," she moans, and he regrets the high ceilinged acoustics when the sound of his fingers withdrawing seems to echo around the room.

She winces, then starts laughing, then winces again. "Oh god. We're going back to jail."

"Let me at least wash my hands first," he says and she shoves him, catching him off guard and making both of them laugh again.

"Derek and Addison Shepherd!" The voice is louder now. "I must insist that you open the door."

"Coming!" Addison squeaks.

"Not anytime soon, at this rate," Derek grumbles, but he tosses Addison her robe and heads to the door with her, ready to protect her from the oversized brutes waiting, no doubt, to muscle them into submission and-

-and the door opens on small, wiry man in spectacles, wearing an obviously expensive suit and carrying a large leather bag.

Derek is so surprised that he steps back and the man seems to take it as an invitation.

"I'm Dr. Palsgraff, the hotel's concierge doctor," he says, extending a hand. "You can call me Dr. P."

Derek hastily shoves his own hand into the pocket of his robe.

"We're germaphobes," Derek mutters, blushing.

"Very wise, with all the communicable diseases around." Dr. P nods approvingly.

Addison has already extended her own hand, and she hastily sticks it back in her pocket.

"Can we help you?"

Dr. P looks from Addison to Derek and then past them to the chaos of the vast, messy bed, and then to the ottoman where the large bowls of strawberries and whipped cream are visible. Finally, he glances at the tangled piles of Addison's hair.

"I was told one of you is ill," he says, "and I wanted to check on you."

"Oh." Derek remembers the overzealous waiter. "We appreciate your concern, but we're fine."

"Physical health is nothing to take for granted," Dr. P says. "It's important to follow up on any symptoms."

"We're doctors," Addison says impatiently. "And we're very busy, so if you don't mind-"

"Wait." The doctor is looking at them with a curious expression. "Derek and Addison Shepherd … doctors … did you go to Columbia?"

They exchange a nervous glance. "Yes," Derek admits tentatively.

"Of course! I remember you! Don't worry," he adds at their blank expressions, "You wouldn't remember me. I was two years behind you, but I was part of that orientation group that was touring the library and found you two in the stacks with-"

"I remember," Derek says hastily, adding a quick Hail Mary that cell phones hadn't yet been invented then, so none of the witnesses could actually  _prove_ what they saw.

"So you're still together, after all those years? Oh, that's so sweet. I'll have to tell my wife. She thinks romance is dead. She's my third wife," he adds, "but I really think this time she's the one."

"How lovely," Addison says drily. "So, as you can see, we're perfectly healthy…"

"Tell me," Dr. P says urgently, leaning forward. "What's your secret?"

"Our secret?" Derek takes a step back.

"For spicing things up. Keeping the flame going. Something I can use to spice things up with Bridget."

"Oh. Um. Well, you need to … put each other … first," Addison says hesitantly.

"Really? I thought you always wanted to come first." Derek gives Addison an innocent smile.

"Are you complaining?"

The concierge doctor looks far too amused.

"I'd advise paying attention to her," Addison says coolly. "You know, act like you're interested."

Derek shoots her an annoyed look. "Don't forget to rely on close friends to help keep your relationship … dynamic."

"We try to keep a nice work-life balance. You know, not working too late."

"Sometimes we come home early," Derek adds, gritting his teeth. "Too early."

"Oh." Dr. P.'s head moves from one of them to the other. "Well, if you're sure you don't need any medical care."

"Not right now," Addison says sweetly, then leans closer to Derek to whisper, "but you might later, for priapism. The painful kind."

She has to muffle a shriek when he slips his hand under her robe to pinch her in response.

"Don't hesitate to call if you need anything," Dr. P. says warmly. "And-"

"Oh, we won't," Addison ushers him toward the door. "Thank you so much."

"I can't get over how little you've changed since medical school," Dr. P. says from the doorway as Addison all but closes the door in his face. He glances at her. "Can you still get your legs all the way-"

"No," Addison says hastily.

"Yes," Derek says at the same time.

The concierge doctor's mouth drops open and Addison starts talking before he can. "Yoga," she says hastily, "ignore the feel good-breath-y stuff and focus on the flexibility. Tell your wife."

"My wife?" He looks confused.

"You said you wanted tips to spice things up with Bridget."

"Oh! No, Bridget isn't my wife. My wife's name is Rochelle. Bridget is my girlfriend."

" _Good night._ " Addison closes the door firmly, then turns to Derek, who starts laughing helplessly; before long, she joins him.

"So." He glances at her. "You want to see if all that yoga paid off?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

…

_Dear Weiss,  
We thought you'd be glad to know that haven't left the hotel room all night. That's how seriously we take our case, and how grateful we are to you for helping_

"But we told him the reservation was incredibly important," Derek points out. "We're going to look flaky."

"I think we have a lot bigger problems than looking flaky," Addison grumbles, but she obligingly deletes the draft, and tries to come up with something more serious.

_Dear Weiss,  
Please accept this email as confirmation that we are in compliance with the terms of our agreement, forthwith and hereinafter known as_

"What's with the lawyer speak?"

"Weiss will like that. He's a lawyer. Plus, it shows we take this seriously."

Derek considers this. "Maybe just stick to the basics."

_Dear Weiss,  
Mission accomplished, at least for tonight. See you tomorrow for brunch. Looking forward._

"Much better," Derek says approvingly. "You do know, though, that brunch means you have to keep your hands to yourself for a few hours."

"I can do that!"

"Oh, really."

"Yes," Addison says firmly. "My hands will be busy with my bagel and schmear."

"That didn't stop you from-"

"Please don't bring up Savvy and Weiss's engagement brunch."

"I wasn't going to. I was going to bring up-"

"And I beg of you, don't say the word  _bris_. The mere thought of it is enough to give me performance anxiety."

"You? Performance anxiety?" She grins. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Well." He sounds rather pleased with himself. "The point is – what?" he asks, seeing Addison's expression.

"Nothing," she says hesitantly. "I was just remembering Savvy and Weiss's housewarming weekend in the Hamptons."

Derek winces. "I'd forgotten about that."

"Really? Even though you still have that scar?" She brushes her fingers against the slightly raised skin on his thigh, so small you'd miss it if you didn't know him really well.

_Extremely_ well.

Derek shrugs. "I guess I told so many people I slipped getting into a kayak that I actually started to believe it myself."

"Do you think Savvy and Weiss believed it?" Addison asks seriously.

The corners of his mouth twitch. "No, I don't."

"You're probably right." She flops back against the fluffy pillows, enjoying the feeling of the crisp white sheets. "Derek … why do they still talk to us?"

"Honestly?" Derek lies back and folds his hands behind his head, the picture of satisfaction. "I have no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reassure me that AO3 is as friendly to smut as Addek are to each other in this story.


	5. Alarms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a sex trip to New York without bagels and lox?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains (mercifully brief) moments of seriousness

The alarm clock wakes Addison from deep, dreamless, and thoroughly satisfying sleep the next morning.

"Mmph," is her response, as she reaches over to press the snooze button.

Well.

The Shepherd Snooze Button, as they've always called it.

Their morning routine for years, right up until they stopped waking up together whenever they could, included a very … personalized alarm clock.

Which is easy if you know exactly where the other person's … alarms are.

But every alarm clock needs a snooze button, so traditionally, to get more sleep, one only had to reach over and press the button.

Well.

Press  _something_ , anyway, and Addison's alarm clock – her very warm, very living, very nakedalarm clock yelps when her fingers skate over his snooze button.

"Five more minutes," she pleads.

"Then you shouldn't have pressed the button," he says, sounding both amused and even a little sympathetic.

"That's not how most snooze buttons work, you know," she pouts.

"Well. We're not  _most_ snooze buttons."

This is fair.

She relents, not because he has a point but because he has warm, skilled hands that are running down the side of her body, waking her up in a way that silences any protests she might have had.

"How did you sleep?" he asks, pulling her close.

She inhales deeply – he smells so familiar here, and different from the trailer, as if New York City itself has gotten back into his pores.

"I slept pretty well."

"Pretty well?" He tugs lightly on a strand of her long hair. "I had a front row seat and I would say you slept like a kitten."

"Like a kitten?" Addison frowns. "Is that a thing?"

"Sure it's a thing," Derek says. "Like a kitten. You know … stretched out … taking up most of the bed … self-satisfied … scratched me a couple of times."

"Derek!" She takes a mock-outraged swing at him, which he deflects neatly by pulling her on top of his body.

She lets him pin her arms – putting up a token protest mainly because her wriggling and his subsequent subduing brings all the best dips and curves of their bodies into close contact.

"Do kittens do this, though?" she purrs into his ear, letting her fingers trail down his body.

"God, I hope not," Derek says, and she laughs against his neck.

"Okay, look. I appreciate that you brought our old alarm clock – "

And then her voice is muffled when he flips them over, balancing on his forearms above her with both eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappear into his very tousled hair. "Old alarm clock?  _Old_?"

"I didn't mean it like that! And anyway, we're the same age."

"Oh, but we're not," Derek points out. "My birthday was yesterday, and you still have two months of being thirty-eight before you're – "

"Old?" she asks innocently.

And not so that he'll tickle her in revenge.

That would be silly.

Still, it's Derek's birthday weekend, so she lets him – he's  _fast_ , with those very well-trained fingers and she thrashes and shrieks underneath him until he stops, very suddenly, right at the edge of discomfort.

"How do you do that?" she asks, when she has her breath back.

"Do what?" He's settled on his side next to her now, lazily strumming his fingers along her bare hip.

"Know just when I – I mean …"

Her voice trails off; she finds herself a little embarrassed.

Tactfully, Derek prevents her from having to finish the sentence by kissing her, first with gentle lips and then more probing ones.

Then he draws back and looks at her. His eyes are bright like they are in the early morning, that particular color of blue when he's … well … turned on (which differs from the shade of blue right after he's … well … finished).

For a moment he's gaze turns so intense it almost takes her breath away.

"You're my wife," he says quietly. "That's how I do it."

She feels tears spring to her eyes.

He doesn't question them or shush her, just kisses the moisture that gathers and then pulls her on top of him again, holding her close. She melts against his body, arms and legs draped over him like a blanket. For long moments – she's not sure how long, since her alarm clock is currently underneath her, his inhales and exhales her own as well – they just lie there quietly. Derek's familiar fingers trail down her spine. It's soft. It's soothing.

Very soothing.

…

With Addison's body draped over his, he can feel the exact moment she crosses the feathery boundary between awake and asleep. He couldn't say exactly how, if someone were to ask, but he knows all the same. He's felt it countless times. Maybe it's the soft warm weight of her growing a little heavier, or the change in the way she's breathing against his neck.

And even though his alarm clock is currently covering his body and slumbering peacefully, he knows they don't have that much time to get ready for Savvy and Weiss's brunch.

And they can't be late.

Not this time.

Not when Weiss is judging their every move (at least their every move toward each other, anyway).

"Addie," he says quietly against her hair.

Nothing.

"Addison." He rubs circles on her back first gently, then more firmly when she doesn't wake up.

Still nothing.

He's trained, too, to sleep whenever possible – anyone who makes it through residency can say the same – but this is ridiculous.

" _Addison._ "

He shakes one of her shoulders, and then the other.

Nothing!

Finally, running out of options, he sits up just a little, raises his right hand, glances at his open palm, and then brings it down hard on one bare cheek.

"Ow!"

Addison is definitely awake now, scrambling off him and kneeling up on the mattress, rubbing the skin he's just marked. "What was that for?"

"To wake you up."

"Well, it hurt! Couldn't you just – wake me up some other way?"

"Believe me, Addie, I tried."

She glares at him, still rubbing the sore spot. He feels a little bad now, but also defensive. She's making a pretty big deal out of this for someone who so many times in the past has –

But he's not going to throw that in her face.

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "I just know you don't want to be late to Savvy and Weiss's."

"That's true." She looks somewhat mollified.

Feeling hopefully, he reaches for her free hand and gently tugs until she's lying against his side again. He skims one hand down the curve of her back, over the soft roundness of –

"Ow!"

"Sorry," he says again, hastily. "I'm trying to help," he adds.

Rather grudgingly, she settles back down.

He skates his palm very carefully over the spot he marked – it's significantly warmer than the surrounding skin – hot, even, glowing against his palm. So lightly he's practically not touching her at all, he runs his fingers over it – once, another time – in softly concentric circles, soothing its soreness.

"Better?" he asks after a few moments.

"Better," she agrees. She leans up to kiss his neck, he palms one smooth thigh, and then she's on top of him again. Their lips meet, and she smiles against his mouth.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd really like to, um, hit your snooze button right now, but I think you're right that we need to get ready for brunch."

He reluctantly agrees, even though he immediately misses the warm weight of her body when she hefts herself off his.

"Derek?" she says again.

"Yeah, Addie."

"Just to be clear, you do know I'm not opposed." Her hand drifts over her hip again, settling over the warm patch of skin he marked. "I just like a little warning, that's all."

And with that, she slides off the bed and glances over her shoulder at him, lashes lowered. With her back to him, his eyes are drawn to the red palm print on one perfectly shaped cheek.

He swallows hard, certain it's audible.

Then again, he's only human.

"A little warning," he repeats, his mouth drying as she smiles, slowly, over her shoulder.

_God,_ the way her mouth moves is just …

"Right," she says briskly. "Like, for example: finish taking a shower in three minutes or … else," she proposes. "That would be a little warning."

"But you've never taken a three-minute shower in your –  _oh_ ," he says, realization dawning, as she flashes him another grin and then sashays into the bathroom without another word.

…

Okay,  _now_ they need to rush.

Breathless, disheveled – but showered, with clean bodies if not minds – they stumble around the hotel room with bits of clothing in their hands, struggling to get ready in time.

"This is too – ugh." She tosses aside a shirt he doesn't recognize. "I'm going to wear the white shirt," she announces.

She always does this, as if he's going to object or suggest something else. His critique of her wardrobe is limited to gaping about its prices and complaining when pieces of it are hard to strip off her body when he's trying to get her naked.

"The white shirt sounds fine," he says, since she's waiting. "But – I wouldn't wear white pants," he adds lightly, feeling his cheeks flush at his own innuendo.

She grins at him. "Whose fault is that?"

"Whose idea was it?" he counters.

"Fault and idea aren't the same thing."

"That's not – " He stops, because he's not going to win this argument. Neither of them wins these arguments. In the best of times, the arguments just turn into sex, and while he can't say he any objection to that in principle, he does in practice. Because they're going to be late if they spend any more time on activities that aren't designed specifically to get them to Savvy and Weiss's apartment.

Addison just turns her back, leaning to the ground with agonizingly purposeful slowness to pick up one of her shoes. Hungrily, he watches the white lace of her panties stretch over the rosy ( _very_ rosy, he wasn't kidding about the white pants) curves of her –

"Derek."

"What?"

"Get dressed," Addison says firmly.

But she's not that cruel, she does pause for a kiss, and she doesn't protest when both his hands slide over the seductive curve of her back to cup the lace-covered flesh he can't resist. The skin he finds is glowing with heat, sensitive to his touch, and when she gasps against his neck the warm suction goes right between his legs.

"Addie…"

"I know, I know." She pulls back, then purses her lips. "Oh, Derek," she says, sounding somewhere between disappointed and resigned.

Defensively, he holds the shirt she picked out over the evidence of his distraction. It's hardly his fault! "Oh, Derek,  _what_?" he asks, frowning.

"You know what." She frowns. "Well, fine. I can't leave you hanging," she says briskly. "It wouldn't be polite. You haven't really given me any choice here."

"Addison, you're the one who got us into this. You're the one who kept saying …" His voice trails off as her cool fingers take the shirt from his hands.

"I'm the one who got us into this. With my big mouth, you mean?" she asks, her voice a dangerous purr.

"I didn't say that."

"Mmm. You hinted at it though. So let me get us out of it, then," she says, her palm cupping him, stroking confidently in a way that's going to make it impossible for anything except –

"Addison!"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she says innocently, and he watches with pounding pulse as she drops gracefully to her knees – no one can make that move quite like Addison – and rests her hands on his thighs.

She tips her head back to gaze up at him, long hair dangling down her back, and her big blue eyes staring up at him from that position are almost enough, alone, to drive him over the edge.

" _Addie_ …"

"It's okay," she says, stroking his thighs and inching closer. "Relax, honey. My big mouth got us into this, so I think it's only fair that it gets us  _out_ of this too."

He opens his own mouth to respond but his words are swallowed when her mouth engulfs him.

He doesn't try to speak again.

…

"See? That didn't take much time at all," she says primly, taking advantage of his limply dangling hands to pull herself back up to her feet. Derek is still standing in the same position she left him, looking dazed. He hasn't said a single word since she first slid her lips around his heat. The closest he's come since then is a couple of gasping breaths and a soft sigh-like thing when she finished lapping up any trace of their encounter from his softened flesh.

_Oh._ She kind of gets the kitten thing now.

Is it kind of sexy, or kind of gross? She's not sure.

The line can be so thin …

Oh well, she'll think about that later.

Now, she just kisses him – his eyes are glazed, but his lips tug toward a smile.

"Derek …"

"Hm?"

"Get dressed," she says, tossing him his shirt.

And then she heads for the bathroom to brush her teeth, knowing perfectly well she's giving him an unimpeded view of her new white lace panties.

And what they're covering up.

Sometimes it's worth paying top dollar for underwear, she decides, as she brushes her teeth with one hand and uses the other to massage the sore flesh she teased him into marking.

That's going to feel amazing later, she's well aware from experience. It will … marinate, so to speak, during brunch, and then by the time they come back to the hotel for uninterrupted, uncensored, no-holds-barred –

"Addison!"

"What?" she calls through the bathroom door.

"Can I get in there?"

_Unfortunately, not until later._

…

Somehow, they make it out of the hotel room. It seems the universe wants to help them, because the elevator arrives with merciful swiftness, right before Derek is about to lose his internal battle  _not_ to press Addison against the modern glass walls of the elevator bank and taste her smirking mouth.

Sighing – it may not be a pyrrhic victory, but it's certainly a phallic one – he holds open the elevator door for her.

Which, though gallant, is also stupid because the swing of her hips slows time down enough that the elevator beeps with loud outrage and he nearly gets crushed in the doors.

"Honestly, Derek," Addison scolds, but she looks flattered.

Inside the elevator, he's just about to give up trying to stay on his own side when the doors open and two women who look about ten years younger join them, complaining loudly about the early start to their day.

They're separated now by two other bodies, but Addison smiles at him from across the elevator. First it's in a friendly way, and then not so friendly.

One of her hand – the left, her rings reflecting the light – tucks a few strands of long red hair behind her ear.

Fine. That's just pragmatism.

Then it strokes along her jaw, which is –

Defensible, he supposes.

And over her neck.

Plausible deniability in hard, but he's willing to –

No, he's not, because now that same hand is pausing at her throat to toy with her necklace, and she's tipping her head back against the elevator's glass wall, exposing her long neck, and maybe he should have exercised his marital couture veto for the first time on the white shirt because the thin material is straining against her breasts or her breasts are straining against the material and –

"Are you getting off or not?"

Heat rushes to his face. One of the women on the elevator is looking at him curiously.

Oh god – are they associates from Weiss's law practice, here to spy on him?

"Yes, we're getting off," Addison says smoothly. " _Derek_ ," she hisses. "We're in the lobby."

Oh,  _that_  kind of getting off.

Of course.

He makes a hasty exit, waiting until the women have passed them before he hooks a finger into the waistband of the slim fitting pants he assumes Addison has selected to torture him, and tugs her away from the hotel's revolving glass doors.

"What?" she asks, looking first innocent and then a little nervous.

"That was a dirty trick in there," he tells her.

She seems to be losing the fight to look innocent.

"Are we going to keep it in check for Weiss and Savvy or not?"

"We are," she assures him. "It's just …"

"Just what?"

"Your shirt," she admits, blushing. "It's blue."

"You're the one who told me to – " he looks down. Damn it.

"You  _know_ what blue shirts do to me, Derek."

"You're right, I do. Nothing good has ever happened when I wear a blue shirt."

"On the contrary …" A slow smile tugs at her mobile mouth. "But I take your point. I'll try to do better, okay?"

"That's all I'm asking," he says, mollified.

"And if I don't," she adds, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as they approach the glass doors, her voice dipping into a throaty whisper, "you can just punish me later."

So much for doing better.

" _Addison_ ," he scolds, but she just disappears into the revolving door before him and he has to watch the seductive lines of her body all the way around and around and around …

"Sir, you missed the exit," the bellboy says helpfully.

" …thanks."

"Derek, what took you so – oh!"

She gasps a little as he pulls her against his body. Her eyes widen with surprise, and then darken with lust.

Her insatiable drive is funny, usually, but this is getting a little ridiculous.

Except …

"Honey, is that your … alarm going off?" Addison asks innocently.

"Okay, that's enough," he says, willing the part of his body that can't seem to remember it's not a teenager sometimes to behave itself. "We said we were going to keep ourselves in check, so let's do it."

"Or what?"

"Or nothing," he tells her firmly, trying not to let his face show his amusement at the disappointment in her eyes. "Come on, Addie, Weiss is doing us a favor. Let's try to do what he wants."

"Fine, fine." She sighs. But her expression is troubled.

"What is it?" He waits for her to look at him, tilting his head a little.

"I just … want to talk," she says in a small voice.

"Talk?" Any lingering arousal fades at that word, in that tone. "Why?" he asks warily.

"Why? Because you react like that when I say  _talk._ " She takes a deep breath. "Honey, believe me, I am not complaining about how we spent last night … or this morning … but I was just hoping we'd get to talk this weekend."

"We will," he assures her. "And we have talked," he can't help adding. "Not every talk has to be a capital-t Talk."

"No, I know that, it's just – "

She stops talking, looking a little embarrassed.

He gazes over her shoulder, out the glass doors onto the street where the sun is reflecting off the buildings and he can hear the bellman's whistle.

He does know what she means. But the idea of a capital-t Talk makes his stomach tense up. It reminds him of awkward silences in the trailer and resentment in the halls of the hospital. He doesn't want to be reminded of those things.

"Addie … let's just go see Savvy and Weiss, okay?" He keeps his voice gentle.

"Okay," she says quietly.

"Good." He releases her and nods to the waiting bellman, who whistles up a yellow cab.

"Ooh, do you think there'll be lots of traffic?" Addison asks eagerly, apparently back to her good – or at least randy – mood, one of her nimble hands snaking toward the collar of his blue shirt.

He quickly snatches her hand away and opens up the front door of the cab, to the driver's surprised dismay.

"Can I sit up here?" he asks bluntly.

"No," the driver answers … bluntly.

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not? You ask if you can sit up here, I say no. No."

He tries not to notice Addison's smirk.

"Sir," Derek says with dignity, "can you please reconsider?"

The driver rests a hand on the wheel and studies Derek for a moment, looking unimpressed. "Ten dollars," he says.

"What? Ten dollars to sit in an empty seat? Forget it."

"Fine. Twenty."

"That's not how bargaining works!" Derek protests.

"You want to sit in the front or not?"

"Yes," he mutters, fishing in his wallet for a twenty and handing it over, feeling positively fleeced.

But then he watches Addison slide grumpily into the back of the cab, wincing a little as the seat of her pants makes contact with unforgiving vinyl, and a flood of uncensored memories tells him it's worth twenty dollars for the bulletproof plexiglass barrier between them.

Still.

He buckles his seat belt and waits for the driver to pull out into traffic – which he does with no small amount of brake-riding.

Ugh. He hasn't missed cabs.

And twenty dollars! He's annoyed all over again as the driver stops at a red light. He glances in the rearview mirror to see Addison smirking at him. With her right hand, she makes the gesture for  _money_  and rolls her eyes.

Then she starts to make another gesture –

And he quickly turns away from the mirror.

"What's wrong, Derek?" Addison asks innocently from the backseat.

"Nothing." But he can't resist continuing. "I mean, it's fine. Twenty dollars. It's just that I've heard of paying for sex but paying for  _not_ sex is ridiculous."

"Oh, really? What have you heard about paying for sex?"

The driver interjects. "Men always pay for sex," he observes, shaking his head. "One way or the other."

"Ugh." Addison gives the seat in front of her a kick; Derek frowns at her.

_Cut it out,_ he mouths.

"Derek.  _Derek._ "

"What?"

"You're not going to disagree?" she asks, pointing to the driver and apparently losing any pretense of subtlety.

"The man has our lives in his hands, Addie," he protests.

"Fine!" Addison flops back against the seat and folds her arms over her chest. "Then you should probably get used to paying for sex, Derek, because the free stuff is about to dry up!"

"See," the driver says, with a knowing nod. "We all pay for it."

Derek winces.

The rest of the cab ride to Savvy and Weiss's apartment is relatively uneventful; Addison spends it muttering in the backseat and Derek spends it trying to avoid the driver's knowing gaze in case it makes Addison even angrier.

Finally, they pull up next to the familiar navy awning of Savvy and Weiss's building.

Addison hastens out of the cab after a few choice words for the driver.

Derek follows her, then leans into the open window to settle the bill.

"Don't you dare tip him," she tells Derek, who ignores her.

"I have a tip for you, sir," the driver tells him darkly. "Happy wife, happy life."

"Oh, that ship sailed a long time ago," Addison snaps. "That  _ferryboat_ , I should say."

"And my tip for you, madam," he says, turning to Addison, "is – "

"Okay, thank you!" Derek interrupts before any more damage can be done, adding a hefty tip in the hopes it will get back to the city that's trying to throw them in jail. He pulls Addison back from the cab and closes the door with finality.

On the sidewalk in front of Savvy and Weiss's building, he lets her huff about the driver for another minute while he puts his wallet away and then calls her name to get her attention.

"What is it?" she scowls.

"Get it out of your system, Addie, so we can go inside."

"It's out of my system," she responds primly, "and so are you."

"Oh, really?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, really! I told you, the free stuff is drying up, so you can just get really familiar again with your right – Derek, what are you doing – "

He's reached out a hand to brush a strand of long hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at the curve of her neck that never fails to make her melt.

Never. Not even now, while she's clearly fighting it; her eyes flash with annoyance, but she can't seem to help her physical reaction, practically purring at his touch.

He withdraws his hand.

"Yeah … I'm not too worried," he says smugly.

Then he muffles her outraged response with a quick kiss. "Come on, Addie, let's go inside. Our friends are waiting."

…

Waiting indeed.

The door of their apartment is a wide open welcome by the time Addison and Derek get off the elevator, the doorman having called up to announce their arrival.

"Addie!" Savvy practically launches herself at Addison, then stops before they can embrace. "Are you okay?" she asks worriedly. "Did the police hurt you? What about the corrections officers?"

Derek sees Addison draw a breath, most likely preparing to spin a very self-serving tale.

"She's fine," he says quickly.

Addison glares, but it's true. Her most notable injuries as far as he can tell are bruising on her back from the ferry railing, some redness on her knees from her activities yesterday and today, and the marks she practically begged him to leave on her this morning.

"Good," Savvy says, looking a little uncertain. She settles for a kiss on the cheek for both of them. "I'm so glad to see you."

"So are we. And thank you again, Weiss," Derek says meaningfully, glancing at his old friend. Weiss looks wary, his arm around Savvy, apparently afraid Derek and Addison are going to jump each other right in the hallway.

(Fine, they considered it. And they're not naïve enough to think the door was only open as a welcome. He's perfectly aware that Weiss thinks they need supervision.)

And this is only proven when their friends beckon them inside.

After the obligatory ooing and aahing over the typically inviting spread, Derek can't help but notice that the décor is … different.

Savvy and Weiss have opened both leaves of their enormous dining table so that instead of a cozy brunch for four – or even a generously-sized spread for oh, six or either – there's a vast table with one chair at either end, and one across from each other in the middle, with room for several minyans in between.

"Weiss." Derek frowns. "Why are we reenacting the dining room scenes from  _Citizen Kane_?"

"We're just trying to help you keep some distance," Weiss says defensively.

" _Some_ distance, sure. But does that really mean one of has to sit in Toronto?"

"I'll sit in Toronto," Addison offers, giving Derek a look that suggests she hasn't forgiven him for the cab ride. "Canadian men are … well, Sav, you remember."

Savvy giggles, and Weiss and Derek both glare.

"I'm probably going to be a free agent soon," Addison says casually. "So I wouldn't be opposed to another trip to Canada."

"You are not going to be a free agent soon." Derek rolls his eyes. "And you should probably hold off on planning any trips until you're allowed to leave the state. She's upset because of a cab driver," he tells Weiss and Savvy.

"I'm  _not_ upset," Addison says with dignity, accepting a cup of coffee from Savvy. "But if I were, I would be upset because of a sexist cab driver, and my husband didn't try to defend me."

"Derek." Weiss frowns. "Is that true?"

"It's … biased," he says finally, after discarding several potential responses that would just sound worse.

"It's true, Weiss," Addison says. "You would never let a cab driver talk to Savvy like that."

"Like what?" Savvy asks with interest, returning from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for Derek.

"This coffee is delicious," Derek says quickly, ignoring Addison's glare, and Weiss picks up on the hint and helps him the change the subject.

He doesn't miss Addison's expression, though. He can read her like an occasionally x-rated (fine, more than occasionally) book, and her message is very clear:

_This isn't over._

…

Derek closes his eyes, lost in sensation.

He's trying to maintain decorum, but it's too hard, even knowing how important it is to Addison that this act is done quietly.

Sometimes something is too good for decorum.

Too distracting.

Too … earth-shattering.

"God, that's good," he moans, unable to help himself.

"Derek." Weiss sounds concerned. "Are you all right over there?"

"I'm fine," he says quickly, setting his bagel down on his plate. "I just haven't had a decent bagel in a while."

Savvy looks amused.

But in fairness, it's really an excellent bagel. The texture is perfect.  _Perfect._ And the combination of fresh cream cheese, impeccably cured lox, ripe tomato, spicy red onion, and a smattering of dill is incredible.

He's missed bagel brunches at Savvy and Weiss's.

Smiling at his friends, he takes a dignified sip of water and goes back to – quietly – chewing his bagel.

Across the table, where Addison has been placed about ten feet from him, he sees her lift one long finger to her mouth and delicately lick off a spot of cream cheese from her own bagel.

_Damn it._

Of course she's not going to make it easy.

(And he knows what Weiss would say:  _making it easy_ it what got the two of you into trouble in the first place.)

He also knows Addison would never lick her fingers clean in public – she still visibly flinches when someone goes for the wrong fork at dinner, which he's fairly certain is down to his mother-in-law and equally certain it was the right choice to minimize contact with Addison's parents.

But table manners are one thing. Even impeccable ones.

And torture – apparently she's still upset over the cab driver – is another.

"Oh!"

He glances up. Addison is apologizing to Savvy, who's dashing into the kitchen and returning with clean dishtowels, while Weiss heroically saves the platter of smoked fish.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so clumsy," Addison says, staring with dismay at a spreading puddle of water engulfing one side of her white shirt.

_Addison's not clumsy._

Wait.

"I don't know what happened," she's saying now, taking one of the dishtowels from Savvy and dabbing at the front of her shirt, which is now soaked.

And then, with Savvy and Weiss occupied, she winks at him.

Outraged, he looks at his old friends for support, but neither one notices. Addie smirks at his expression.

Why didn't he tell her to nix the white shirt?

Derek concentrates very hard on the pattern around the rim of his plate.

"You want to borrow a shirt, Addie? You look cold," Savvy says with concern.

Derek makes the mistake of glancing up, briefly, to see that she does, in fact, look cold.

_Damn it._

"No, it's fine," Addison says. "It will dry."

"Are you sure?"

"Borrow a shirt, Addison," Derek advises her with his gaze on his plate. With his eyes, he traces the pattern again. It's blue and gold, with swirls or – something. Something that curves.

Curves.

Very visible ones, outlined by transparent fabric.

He trains his eyes away from the tantalizing view.

But that's a mistake too, because his gaze lands on the framed wedding portrait hanging on the wall. Savvy in frothy lace and Weiss in tie and tails, beaming and young. And Addison and Derek, just as beaming as young. A pink bridesmaid dress skims her long body; Derek's arm is wrapped around her. If he were to look closely he'd see a diamond ring on her hand, but no band. Savvy and Weiss got married first.  _We're next,_ she whispered to him when they watched Savvy walk up the aisle on her father's arm.

Those memories are dangerous; he turns and then he's looking at the antique table he remembers Addison fussing over when Savvy brought it home, while he and Weiss teased them by saying it looked just like a knockoff.

And then it's the coffee table book on Tuscany Weiss bought for Savvy. Derek bought the same one for Addison, with airline tickets inside.

It's still one of his best gifts.

This apartment is full of history – rich, complex history. Painful, beautiful history.

History that's ruined now.

He swallows hard; his hand shakes a little on his next sip of coffee.

"Addie, are you  _sure_  you're okay?" Savvy is asking.

"I'm fine," Addison says bravely, and Derek has to force himself not to roll his eyes at her performance.

"But I don't want you to be cold," Savvy says. "Oh, I have an idea."

_Come back with a shirt, come back with a shirt,_ Derek tries to transmit the request psychically.

It fails.

"I turned up the heat," Savvy announces when she returns. And it seems she's piled much of her long blonde hair atop her head and stripped off her pink cardigan accordingly. From the expression on her husband's face, he's fairly certain Weiss is starting to feel a little more sympathetic to Derek's pain.

"Ooh, Sav, they look  _great_ ," Addison says, apparently distracted from her own wet shirt by Savvy's dry – but clinging – one.

And she said  _they_ , not  _it._

So it's not her shirt she means.

"Don't they?" Savvy beams, pulling her shoulders back a little. "You can thank Mark."

Derek coughs and splutters around his mouthful of coffee.

"Mark recommended someone for the reconstructive surgery," Weiss says quickly. They're the only ones sitting at the table now, Addison and Savvy standing together a few feet away.

"Someone great," Savvy adds, a nervous trill in her voice as she glances at Derek. "Mark just did a consult or whatever. He was really nice about it."

Addison looks frozen, one hand resting on Savvy's bare shoulder. The word  _Mark_ seems to have stopped her in her tracks, and Derek finds himself annoyed again.

"Oh, Mark is nothing if not  _really nice_ ," Derek says sourly. "Right up until he sleeps with your wife."

Addison's cheeks turn pink.

"Derek," Weiss says quietly.

The air has turned tense, alarm bells practically audible, but he keeps going.

"No, it's fine." Derek stands up, tucking his chair in neatly, then turns to Savvy. "I'm glad he was helpful, Sav. I just hope you didn't help  _him_  out in return."

He knows he's gone too far the moment the words leave his mouth. Weiss pushes back his chair so abruptly it screams against the hardwood floor, advancing on Derek.

"Honey.  _Honey_." In a flash, Savvy has moved between them. "It's okay," she says, her tone appeasing.

"It's not okay," Weiss corrects sharply.

Addison, standing alone now in her still-damp shirt, looks like she'd like to disappear.

Weiss is inches from him now, Savvy hanging onto his arm.

"Derek, I don't care how sexually frustrated you are, you don't talk to my wife that way. Ever."

The words are cold, harsh – and Derek realizes he's never actually seen Weiss angry like this before. He's seen him curse the screen when the Yankees lose and he's seen him complain about things, even get heated about work politics or real politics, but not angry. It changes his whole face, his brows knitted together, and for a moment Derek is certain he's going to throw a punch.

"I'm sorry," he says, and means it. Savvy hasn't done anything wrong. Guilt floods him immediately. Here's Savvy being so brave about her health ordeal, multiple surgeries, and he basically accuses her of sleeping with Mark. "Savvy, I'm sorry," he repeats, looking her in the eyes this time. "I really am."

"It's okay," she says immediately, giving Derek a faint smile. "Thank you, Derek."

She's still resting a manicured hand on Weiss's chest; he doesn't acknowledge Derek's apology.

"Can we please go back to the table?" Savvy asks. "I'd like to finish my coffee. Weiss, honey…" she prods gently when he doesn't respond.

"I'm sorry," Derek says again, directing the words to Weiss this time. "I was out of line, Weiss. I know that. It won't happen again."

"It better not," Weiss says darkly, but he seems slightly mollified, allowing Savvy to lead him back toward the table where their coffee awaits. She settles on his lap once he's seated, apparently not chancing his deciding to get up and throw a punch at Derek after all.

Weiss doesn't seem to mind; with one arm around his wife, he uses his free hand to take a long sip of coffee.

Derek glances questioningly at Addison, who's still standing right where she stood during his entire confrontation with Weiss. She doesn't look at him.

At the table, Savvy is murmuring something to Weiss, whose attention is focused on her. When Addison still doesn't move, Derek approaches her.

"Are you okay?" he asks, somewhat grudgingly.

She doesn't respond.

"Addison." He touches her shoulder and feels the startled reaction of her muscles under his palm.

"What's wrong with you? You're miles away."

"Six miles?" she asks ruefully. But her eyes are shining with tears, making her joke sad instead of funny.

"Addison." He's surprised, taking her arm in his and walking her further away from the dining room for some privacy. "Is this because of what I said?"

"No," she says immediately. "I understand why you said it. It's my fault, not yours. You and Weiss never fight. I've never seen you fight."

He nods, still trying to understand. "It's okay," he says when she looks expectantly at him.

"It's not okay," she counters, sounding much like Weiss. "Don't you get it? You and Weiss are happy when I'm not here. Savvy and Weiss are happy when I'm not here. You're happy when I'm not here."

"Addison." He shakes his head. "That's not – look, this isn't the time, or the place."

"Yeah." She looks down at her hands. "That's kind of our problem, isn't it? It's never the time or the place."

"Are you talking about the ferry?"

"I'm talking about everything."

Derek sighs and glances toward the dining room table. Savvy and Weiss still appear preoccupied with each other, so he leads Addison through the swinging doors into their kitchen.

Addison follows him without complaint, leaning her elbows on the marble island. He can only see the back of her, but her posture indicates she's tired.

"Addie."

She turns around. "It's never going to go away, is it?" Her voice trembles. "I thought we were … I mean, we were having …"

Her voice trails off before she can say either  _fun_  or  _great sex_ , either of which seems appropriate.

"I shouldn't have said anything." He knows it's true. He knew it even when he was saying it, that his short lived enjoyment, the little thrill of meanness, wouldn't last. He's done this dance enough since Addison arrived in Seattle.

_Are you done, Derek? Hurting me back, I mean._

"No, it's not your fault," she says. "It's mine."

"Can't it be both of ours?" he tries.

She smiles a little. "Yeah … okay." But then she looks pensive again, twisting the rings on her left hand. "Poor Savvy and Weiss. Weiss bails us out of jail, they invite us over for brunch, and …"

"I know."

Addison looks so sad – whether because of what's happened to their marriage or the devastation of being a less than perfect houseguest – that he can't really stand it. His hand rises of its own accord and brushes lightly against her jaw.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

Her eyes meet his. Tears that never fell are still shimmering on their surface. "You already apologized. Twice."

"I apologized to Savvy and I apologized to Weiss," Derek says. "But I didn't apologize to you."

"You don't have to – "

"I'm sorry for what I said. I might have swung at Savvy, in there, but – I was aiming at you."

"Yeah." Addison looks down at her hands. "I kind of got that. But ... thank you. And I'm sorry too, for - "

"I know," he says, before she can go through the litany again. She turns her gaze up to his and he touches her face, gently, her cheek coming to rest in his palm.

"Oh, come  _on._ "

The sarcastic, annoyed words echo in the quiet kitchen.

"We're not doing anything," Derek says quickly, pulling his hand down.

"Yeah ... I've heard that one before."

Weiss seems more like himself again, at least, his anger gone. He turns to Addison. "Addie, Savvy's looking for you."

She nods.

And Weiss isn't the only one whose anger is gone. One glance at Addison's faintly quivering chin and he's certain he doesn't care if it ends up hurting their criminal defense. He pulls her close again and places a gentle kiss on her lips anyway. She looks surprised for a moment … and then pleased. The tears that were clinging to her lashes are gone now.

Derek watches the door swing shut behind her.

"I guess she's not mad at you anymore," Weiss observes mildly.

Derek blinks, confused by the order of the pronouns.

"Oh, you mean for the cab ride?"

"Derek, don't be an idiot," Weiss says, but his tone borders on affectionate.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sleeping with Mark was about as mad at you as she could get, don't you think? Even if she didn't use words … just bad decisions."

Derek considers this. "You might be right."

Weiss nods sagely. "All my clients say that eventually."

"I thought I wasn't your client."

"That's beside the point." Weiss looks amused, though.

"I really am sorry, Weiss," Derek says quietly. "What happened to our marriage has nothing to do with the two of you and I should never have said that to Savvy. I regret it, and I'm sorry."

He's not sure the last time he apologized this much. It feels … interesting.

Weiss just nods again. "I know you are. Forget about it."

His tone is a little short, though, and Derek isn't quite sure he's forgiven.

"I've never seen you that angry," Derek says hesitantly.

"Yeah, well." Weiss brings some of the dishes to the sink and starts running water. "Would you let me talk like that to Addie?"

"Of course not," he says without really thinking about it.

"So you get it. It's done."

"You're really not angry anymore?" Derek asks doubtfully.

"No. You're forgiven. Unless…"

Weiss pauses, drawing out the sentence enough to make Derek nervous.

"Unless?" he asks finally, prompting his friend.

Weiss clears his throat. "Unless … you started rooting for the Mariners out there," he finishes.

Derek exhales an audible sigh of relief.

"Not even for a second."

"Good."

…

"I'm so sorry about that."

"Don't you start apologizing now," Savvy scolds. "Those two and their … chest thumping is about all I can take today."

"Yeah." Addison glances at her old friend. "I've never seen Weiss like that."

"I have," Savvy says simply. "He can get … protective."

"And you don't enjoy it at all," Addison prods teasingly.

"I don't. I hate violence," Savvy announces primly.

Addison just regards her calmly.

"Fine, it was a  _little_  hot." Savvy smiles, then shakes her head. "But don't quote me on that. And I don't think I would have enjoyed it quite as much if blood had been involved. We're not all surgeons, you know."

"True."

"But you're okay now?" Savvy asks gently. "You and Derek?"

"Yes … and no." Addison tries to put it into words. "We kind of … left our problems behind," she says carefully. "Or that's how it felt. You know, on the plane, and then in the hotel …"

"On the ferry," Savvy adds with a mischievous look, but falls quiet again, encouraging Addison to go on.

"And it was … nice," Addison admits. "More than nice. And then when we got here, it was still like that for a while … and then it wasn't."

"Ah." Savvy seems to be considering this. "Our place is the first spot you've gone where there's history," she offers gently, "isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you didn't go back to the brownstone, or any of your old haunts. You stayed somewhere new. Maybe being here, where you spent a lot of time when you were married … well, you get it."

She does, and it's an interesting proposition. "This wasn't supposed to get so serious," she says, feeling a little silly. "We were actually … having fun."

She gives Savvy a brief and somewhat censored description of the previous evening.

Savvy looks impressed. "A whole tour group?" she asks, eyes wide. "What exactly were you – "

"Never mind," she says quickly.

"Because marriage is more than great sex and reminiscing about all the innocent people you've scarred with your antics," Savvy says gently. "It's the tough stuff, too."

"But that's not what this weekend was for," Addison blurts.

"No?" Savvy studies her for a moment. "Are you sure about that?"

"I … don't know." Savvy's expression is giving her pause.

"Look, I just know you're both here. So you have to come up for air once in a while. You can't spend all day in bed. You can work out the kinks – and yes, I know what Weiss would say to that, but I'm not going for the double entendre – and then get back in bed, you know. It's not one or the other."

"How did you get so wise?"

"It was the near-death experience," Savvy says sagely.

"So … what am I supposed to do now?"

"Well, you're sticking around until your court date, right?"

"We don't have much of a choice."

"Which means that instead of a weekend, you have … a whole bunch of days you weren't expecting to spend together."

"And you think we should spend them working on our marriage?"

"Addie, you realize that it's not just the difficult conversations that count as working on your marriage? The sex counts too, so I can't really be mad at you about that – even if Weiss wasn't thrilled with  _how_ you went about it, and neither was the NYPD."

"Oh." She considers this. "So what does that mean?"

"It means that my advice is to be open. Just … take it as it comes." Savvy smiles warmly at her. "Oh, and Addie?"

"Hm?"

"That time, I was going for the double entendre."

…

The air has mercifully cleared and Derek notes that it's reminiscent of the way he and Addison would sometimes fight, back when their marriage was young. They would be frustrated, loud, hearts pounding – and then it was over, it was calm. Sometimes the pressure builds … and just has to be released.

So it's a relief that when he and Weiss finish up the dishes, bantering good naturedly about sports and not touching on any sensitive topics, they find Savvy and Addison curled up on opposite sides of the couch with coffee cups, in identical postures with their legs tucked under them. It's peaceful, and familiar too.

"Hey," Addison says quietly to him. She raises her coffee cup a little in salute.

"Hey." He sits down on the chair next to her side of the couch; she offers him a sip of her coffee and he takes it, then hands her back the cup.

Savvy glances from one of them to the other, then to Weiss, who settles in on the couch behind her. Derek is a little envious of their positions, but he's being subtle about it.

... but apparently not subtle enough.

"We're not outlaws," Weiss says smugly, "so we don't have to keep our distance."

"Are you this hard on all your clients?" Derek asks.

Weiss looks like he's about to say something, then closes his mouth again. Instead, he just moves his head a little, seeming like he's taking in the whole room.

"We haven't done this in a long time," he muses.

Derek nods. It's true, but he can tell Weiss is also thinking what he's thinking – that they used to do this all the time. Addison's hand, resting on the arm of the couch, twitches a little bit. Derek covers it with his and after a few seconds her palm turns until their fingers are entwined.

"What he means is … it's good to have you back," Savvy says.

"… just until our court date," Addison clarifies.

"Oh. Right." Savvy looks from one of them to the other again. "Oh, wait – I can't believe I didn't ask, after all this. I forgot the whole point of your trip here was to go to Fourchette. How was dinner last night?"

…

Short-lived peace is still peace, Derek decides, even if it's short-lived.

Even if it means that he and Addison are currently holed up in a small powder room hanging onto the doorknob while both Savvy and Weiss yell at them from the other side of the door.

"I can't believe – "

"Did you seriously – "

"You are unbelievable – "

"Not to mention insatiable – "

"Your whole defense is supposed to be premised on that restaurant!" Weiss bellows after a moment of welcome silence from their tandem yelling.

"That's not a very strong defense," Addison can't help responding.

Derek elbows her.

"No kidding, Addie!" Weiss shouts.

Except he doesn't say  _kidding._

"All right, enough." Derek raps on the door from the inside. "If we come out, you have to stop yelling at us."

"No deal," Weiss says firmly, rattling the locked doorknob a few times.

"Why would we ever agree to that?" Savvy adds.

Addison turns to Derek. "Why are we friends with lawyers?"

"Maybe you knew all along you'd turn into criminals," Weiss suggests from the other side of the door.

"Addie, come on," Savvy cajoles from outside the door.

"Okay, enough," Weiss says. "I'm getting the key."

"You have a key?"

"We have a key. I'm getting it, and you're getting out of there. Just – Sav, you wait there in case they try to pull a fast one," they hear Weiss direct.

And then … silence.

"He's gone," Addison whispers.

"How much time do you think we have?" Derek asks, turning on the faucet.

"At least a few minutes."

"Or a minute anyway."

The running water is surprisingly soothing. Actually, it reminds her of that waterfall where they –

"Derek, wait."

He waits.

"We can't do this."

"We can't?" He's confused. Hasn't every moment since the plane left the runway at Sea-Tac confirmed that they can, in fact, do this? That they can do this very, very well?

"No. We can't. Look, all Weiss asked from us is that we … behave."

"Right …"

"And we owe him."

"We do," Derek agrees. "Both of them," he adds.

Addison nods.

"Do you really think we can do this?" he asks, hearing the doubt in his own voice.

"It's going to be hard," she says hesitantly.

They both pause to practice their newfound self-discipline by  _not_ calling attention to her choice of vocabulary.

… and then congratulate themselves twice, first for pulling it off and second for not celebrating by, well, pulling it off.

They draw twin deep breaths.

And then Derek shuts off the water.

…

They can hear Weiss muttering as he approaches. "It was under a pile of grogers," he's saying to Savvy as he approaches. "What was it doing there?"

"I have no idea – ooh, actually, didn't your sister bring her boys over last Purim?"

"So?"

"So…"

Savvy's voice trails off.

Inside the bathroom, Derek winces, wondering if they're going to get blamed for this too.

"Anyway, now we have it. We're coming in there!" Weiss adds, raising his voice to make sure they can hear inside the bathroom. "And we're not under any illusions about what we're going to find, but if you could at least make sure that bathing suit areas are – "

The door bursts open.

"…covered," he finishes slowly. "I'd appreciate it."

Next to him, Savvy's mouth is open with surprise.

"Derek. Addison." Weiss looks from one of them to the other. "Really?"

"Really," Derek says.

He can't blame Weiss for his surprise. He knows what his friends saw when they unlocked the bathroom door.

Addison is sitting on the closed toilet, legs crossed primly, hair perfectly neat, cheeks a normal, well-mannered color.

Derek is more than arms' length away, leaning against the wall. His arms are folded over his chest, and his heartbeat is exactly what one would expect in a, well,  _normal_  situation.

"You really didn't –"

Weiss looks from one of them to the other.

"We really didn't," Derek assures him.

Savvy and Weiss exchange a look.

"Wow," Weiss says simply.

"Okay, were we  _really_ that bad?"

"You mean when you lived here before, or on this trip?"

"Either," Derek says.

"Both," Addison says.

Weiss turns to Derek first. "Yes, or yes," he says, before turning to Addison. "Yes  _and_  yes."

Savvy beams at his answers and moves a little closer to her husband – she's always been a stickler for grammatical precision – and Addison starts wondering if they're going to be the next two to get arrested for indecent exposure.

"The point is," Derek cuts in hastily, "we really didn't. We're making a fresh start."

"Turning over a new leaf," Addison adds.

"Going straight."

"Coming clean."

All four of them pause.

"The point is," Addison finishes with dignity, "all that is behind us. So if you'll let us out of here, we can go back to having a nice, normal, civilized brunch."

Weiss and Savvy exchange a look.

"And we're going to make up for the reservation," Derek says. "We'll – reschedule."

"You can't reschedule at Fourchette," Addison and Savvy say in unison.

"The point is, we'll make up for everything." Derek says hurriedly. "The point is …"

His voice trails off.

"Just let them out," Savvy tells Weiss. "I know we're mad and everything, but I've really missed Addie and I don't want to lose any more time without catching up."

"Oh, Sav." Addison looks touched. Swiftly, she crosses the floor of the powder room and the two women embrace.

"It's just really good to see you," Savvy says, her voice somewhat muffled by Addison's hair.

"I was going to say the same thing," Addison says. "But then I got distracted."

Derek is confused, but then Addison pulls back and, unfortunately, clears up his confusion.

"Sav, they feel  _amazing._ "

"I know, right?" Savvy grins. "They do incredible work now."

Derek concentrates on the pattern in the white-on-white floor tile. This really isn't anything he needs to –

"And they're so high!" Addison sounds impressed.

"I know. It's like being nineteen again. Remember – "

"Oh, I remember."

Addison sounds wistful. Derek considers interrupting to remind her that he's spent the last twenty-four in very close proximity to her very-not-nineteen breasts and he has zero complaints, but … it doesn't seem like the right time.

Still, he reminds himself to make it very clear later.

He glances up, and then regrets it immediately when what he sees is Savvy holding her long hair off her face while Addison, eyes wide, places one of her hand right on –

"Addison!"

"What?" She turns to Derek, eyes wide.

He exchanges an uncomfortable look with Weiss.

"…nothing," he says, at glares from both women.

"Derek, I'm happy to see Savvy looking so good, that's all. Aren't you?"

"Happy that Savvy looks good?" Derek exchanges an even more uncomfortable look with Weiss. How the hell is he supposed to answer that? Rock/hard-place wise, it's about one step up from  _when did you stop beating your wife?_

"Um …." No help is forthcoming. "Savvy always looks good," he tries after a few moments of awkward silence.

He sees Weiss give him a subtle thumbs up.

"Thank you, Derek," Savvy says, smiling at him. She turns back to Addison. "The texture is incredible, don't you think?"

"Absolutely."

"Sav," Weiss says, his tone deferential, "shouldn't we let Derek out of the bathroom?"

"What? Oh, sure," Savvy says distractedly, taking a few steps away from the doorframe so Derek can exit.

"I just can't get over how great they look," Addison is saying, as Savvy turns to one side, and then the other.

"That means a lot. I know how many breast exams you've done."

Addison laughs. "I wasn't even thinking of that, but – okay, fair enough."

Savvy grins. "Ooh, do you want to see?" she asks suddenly.

"Want to see what?" Derek asks nervously.

The women ignore him.

"Of course I do!" Addison beams.

Oh.

See  _that._

Or should he say  _those._

Addison's eyes are sparkling with what Derek is almost 100% sure is excitement for her friend's massively successful reconstructive surgery.

But still.

"Be careful," Derek advises, "she's insatiable."

He throws a glance at Weiss after that, worried the other man will hear it as an insult, but he's chuckling.

"I'm well aware she's insatiable," Savvy says with a grin, "I lived with her for four years and two of those were in a shared bedroom."

"Wait, what does that – "

"But since it's not Spring Fling and it's not two-for-one Tuesdays at Margarita Joe's… I think I'm safe."

"Wait,  _what_?!"

They don't respond.

Instead, arms linked, the two women head down the hallway toward what Derek knows to be Savvy and Weiss's bedroom.

Derek turns to Weiss. "Did you know this?"

"I did not know this."

"How did we not know this?"

"I don't know," Weiss says, still gazing toward the bedroom with a glazed expression. "But you know what I do know?"

"What?"

"I know we need to know  _more_ about this."

"Agreed."

They start down the hall after the girls, full of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed me with kudos, if not with smoked salmon.


	6. if you want something done right...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Derek gets a(nother) birthday present

The door to Savvy and Weiss's room is closed when they get there. Derek gives his friend a curious look when he just stands still, and extends his own hand toward the doorknob.

Weiss shakes his head, lifting his finger to his lips and then gesturing to the closed door.

Following the other man's lead, Derek leans closer to the door … close enough to hear both familiar, if slightly muffled, voices from inside the bedroom.

"The texture is incredible."

Addison's voice, clearly. Derek frowns.

"I know, right? Firm … but still soft," Savvy is saying thoughtfully. "You want to taste?"

Addison's laugh carries through the door. "I really shouldn't."

"Oh, you really should. You won't regret it."

"Fine, if you insist."

They hear shuffling sounds from inside the bedroom.

"Don't tell Weiss … "

That was Savvy.

"I won't, but don't you think he'll notice if the bed is all sticky?"

"Fine, if you want to miss out on something this good because you're worried about Weiss…"

And then … Addison moans.

Loudly.

"God, this is good."

Derek turns to Weiss with alarm.

"This is actually the best thing I've ever tasted," Addison says from inside the bedroom. "It's incredible."

They move as one through the door.

"Okay, that's enough – " Weiss stops talking once the door is open.

Addison and Savvy both look up, confused, when the two men burst in.

For a moment Derek and Weiss just stand there, confused at what they see:

Addison is sitting cross-legged on the bed, holding a peach in one hand with a few circles bitten out of it; Savvy is stretched out on the chaise longue a few feet away with another peach in hers.

"What do you mean,  _that's enough?_ " Addison asks, brow furrowed.

"Stone fruit. He means stone fruit," Derek says helpfully. "You should, uh, stop with one. Because, you know, we still haven't had dessert …"

"Weiss, are you calling me fat?" Addison asks, turning to their friend and raising one eyebrow delicately.

"No, of course not. Just – uh – sugar," he says, sounding far less articulate than usual and rather like he's hoping someone will rescue him.

Derek knows the feeling.

"Oh." Addison takes another bite of the peach and a little bead of juice gathers at the corner of her mouth. Derek swallows hard. "Well, thank you for looking out for me, Weiss. But I can handle a little sugar."

Weiss is looking pleadingly at Derek, who suddenly remembers who bailed them out of jail. "Why are you eating peaches?" he asks, trying to help.

"Because they're amazing." Savvy smiles at him. "They're from that basket the accountant sent."

"He's sweet on her," Weiss interjects.

"He is not sweet on me." Savvy frowns. "He just knows I'm from Georgia and that I miss it sometimes, so he sends …." Her voice trails off. "Addie, your accountant sends you things, doesn't he?"

"Our accountant is a  _she_ ," Addison says, "and the only thing she sends is bills."

"Oh." Savvy pauses, glancing at the peach in her hand. "The point is, they're delicious."

"And sticky." Weiss frowns.

Addison and Savvy exchange a meaningful glance; this one Derek understands, having shared plenty of spaces with Savvy and Weiss over the years, including frequent weekends in the country. He's far too polite to call his old friend  _neurotic_  or anything along those lines, but Weiss was always the one sweeping the sand off the deck and hovering with bleach to wait for the chicken to finish marinating.

"I told you he wouldn't like this," Savvy sighs, then holds up her slightly bitten peach. "At least taste it now that you've burst in here."

Weiss looks torn. Addison looks amused, taking another bite of her peach and then offering it to Derek. It's jewel bright, glistening, perfect circle marks from her sharp teeth. He accepts a bite – it bursts with so much sweetness and flavor he has to close his eyes for a moment – and then without thinking leans in to clear the drop of peach juice still clinging to the corner of Addison's mouth.

With his own.

At the sound of a clearing throat, he pulls back immediately to see Weiss, arms folded, scowling at them.

"Was that fight before even real?" he demands. "Or were you just trying to trick us so we'd forget you're sex fiends?"

"It was real, and we're not sex fiends," Addison responds indignantly. When Weiss doesn't look convinced, she frowns. "Weiss … how are you billing your time yesterday?"

"Pro bono defense of alleged sex fiends," he recites.

" _Alleged_ ," Addison repeats. "That means it hasn't been proven."

"She has a point, honey," Savvy says.

Weiss turns to her. "Sav, do you want to see the police report?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Addison cuts in hastily. "The point is …" She seems to flounder, turning to Derek for help. "The point is …"

"The point is, what happened at spring fling?"

"And Two for One Tuesdays at Margarita Joe's?" Weiss adds.

Addison looks like she regrets asking him for help.

"Never mind," Savvy says firmly.

"Oh, come on." Weiss turns to her. "You can't drop a line like that and not tell us."

"Sure we can."

Addison nods in agreement. "We just did."

"Very funny." Weiss frowns at both of them. "Addie, what happened to your gratitude for my legal counsel?"

"Do you charge all your clients in stories about girl-on-girl?" she asks innocently.

"Well … no," Weiss admits, with the good grace to blush a little, "but there are bar regulations about that."

Savvy gives a confirmatory nod when Addison glances at her.

"Okay, fine," Addison sighs. "But only because that lox was so good."

"Should we get Eli Zabar on the phone, then?" Weiss asks. "He really deserves the credit for the lox."

Savvy beams, apparently pleased with her husband's tendency to share credit where credit is due.

"I'll leave it up to you how much of this story you share with the Zabar family," Addison says, and Weiss seems satisfied.

"So," Derek prompts. "Spring Fling …."

"Right." Addison nods, glancing at Savvy. "You might as well get comfortable," she says, and Derek decides to sit down on the bed rather than wonder why she made that suggestion. Weiss joins Savvy on the chaise, looking equally curious and wary.

"Well," Addison starts. "It was Spring Fling, sophomore year. Which was basically an opportunity to take advantage of the one week of nice weather we'd get up there."

"In between the snow," Savvy cuts in.

"And the sleet," Addison adds.

"And the rain."

"And before the humidity and the heat and the summer thunderstorms," Addison finishes with a sigh. "And there was a concert, an outdoor concert – I don't remember who was playing," she muses.

"Don't try to remember," Savvy advises her, "it will just date us."

"Ooh, good point." Addison nods. "Anyway, it was a … concert, and the weather was beautiful. The green was full, all of us were all spread out on the grass with blankets and picnic baskets, and wine … it was really nice, actually."

Derek and Weiss exchange a glance. So far it does sound – well, nice. So obviously there's more.

There has to be.

Savvy takes over the story. "Addie and I were both dating that spring – oh come  _on,_ " Savvy shakes her head, grinning. "You can't get jealous if you didn't know us yet."

"We can," Weiss says. "We just did."

Savvy frowns at him. "My point is, Addie was dating that rower from Exeter and I was dating –"

"Oh, I remember," Weiss interjects, scowling. "That airhead musclebound drone with the – weird chin thing."

"He played lacrosse," Savvy tells Derek with dignity, not looking at her husband, "the weird chin thing was a cleft, and he actually wasn't an airhead. He's a federal prosecutor now."

"In Kansas," Weiss clarifies, "which doesn't really count."

Savvy continues to ignore him. "The  _point_  is, Addie and I both had boyfriends that spring, and our plan was to have a picnic – like a double date. Watch the music, wait for stars to come out, drink wine and eat cheese and grapes and … well, you get the drill."

Derek and Weiss exchange another look, wondering where this is going.

"What happened next?" Derek prompts, while Weiss rubs his thumb over his decidedly un-clefted chin.

"Nothing happened," Addison says glumly.

"They didn't show," Savvy explains.

"Who didn't show?"

"Our boyfriends," Savvy says patiently.

"The rower didn't show?" Derek asks Addison.

She shakes her head. "Nope."

"And the airhead didn't show either?" Weiss asks.

Savvy nods in confirmation, not correcting him this time.

"We got stood up," she says. " _Double_ stood up."

"I found out later that the rower had hooked up with a Philosophy major with a nose ring," Addison adds.

"And the not-actually-an-airhead had read an article about how sex undermines academic performance and decided to dump me," Savvy says. "Without bothering to inform me, mind you."

"Jerks," Weiss says.

"Jerks," Derek agrees.

"Well, be glad they gave us up or we might not have been so available when we met the two of you," Savvy says reasonably. "But at the time – we were pretty upset."

Addison nods. "We both thought we were in serious relationships, and we'd planned this lovely picnic, and instead – we end up alone, just the two of us, on this huge blanket with wine and cheese and grapes … a whole romantic meal for four."

"So what did you do?"

"We drank wine," Savvy says.

"A lot of wine," Addison adds.

Derek and Weiss exchange a glance. They've both known Addison for a long time.  _A lot of wine_ , for her, is no joke.

"We were sad," Savvy reminds them.

"And all around us … were couples," Addison sighs. "Cuddling, and sharing drinks, and feeding each other grapes, and listening to the music – and there we were, just the two of us, with our hearts broken."

Weiss's eyes have softened now. "So you were sad."

"We were sad," Savvy confirms. She glances at Addison. "But at least we had each other."

Derek considers this. "Oh. So it was ... a comfort thing."

That's not really what he was expecting, but he can concede it's actually sort of sweet.

"Right," Savvy says, but her gaze seems fixed across the room on a spot on the wall.

Weiss's brows knit together. "Sav?"

"What?"

"You're a terrible liar," Weiss says bluntly.

"I never lie!" Savvy's blue eyes are wide and studiedly innocent.

"She's only good at lying in court," Weiss explains to Derek.

"Excuse me, I do not  _lie_  in court," Savvy says with dignity. "I occasionally … massage the truth, but that's different. And anyway, I have a poker face."

(She doesn't … Derek has played poker with her more than once.)

"Just tell us what happened," Derek suggests. "You were sad, you got dumped, so you cheered each other up with some friendly kissing?"

"Yes, exactly," Addison says, nodding vigorously.

A little too vigorously.

Weiss and Derek exchange another look.

"So that's what happened," Weiss says.

Both women nod.

"We believe you."

"You do?"

"Nope," Weiss says. "What actually happened?"

Savvy's mouth opens, then closes again. She glances at Addison.

"Well … it's the same basic idea," Savvy says hesitantly.

"We were sad," Addison reminds them.

"And lonely."

"And supporting each other."

"And we had run out of wine."

"And …?" Weiss prompts when they stop speaking.

"And … the guys on the next blanket offered us a bottle if we if we kissed each other," Addison admits.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "You kissed each other for wine?"

"We were  _sad_ ," Addison reminds him.

"I bet those guys weren't sad," Weiss smirks.

"That's beside the point," Savvy says primly. "We needed wine, they had wine. It was simple. Strategic."

"And no one took pictures," Addison adds, apparently anticipating Weiss's next question. "Thank goodness it was nineteen-"

Savvy coughs politely to cover the rest of the date.

"You kissed for wine. It was a strategic transaction," Weiss summarizes, then pauses. "You  _just_  kissed, though, right?"

Savvy has become very interested in the embroidered pattern on the chaise longue.

"It was college," Addison says, her cheeks a little pink. "Everyone does things like that in college."

"No, they don't," Weiss and Derek chorus in unison.

Addison looks like she's trying not to laugh.

"Don't be mad," she says, "we  _really_ needed wine."

That does sound like solid Addison-style reasoning. Still …

"So you didn't enjoy it?" Weiss asks.

"Well, that's not really the point," Savvy says.

Weiss tilts his head, squinting.

"Stop trying to imagine it!" Savvy scolds.

Addison turns to Derek as if to praise him for  _not_  trying to imagine it, and then frowns at him.

"Okay, that's enough. Both of you, put your tongues back in your mouths."

"Maybe both of  _you_  should have taken your own advice back in nineteen-cough," Weiss suggests.

Now Savvy looks like she's trying not to laugh.

Derek turns to Addison. "You really needed that wine, huh?"

She leans in to give him a quick kiss. "I You know how I am with my wine."

"I do know that." He smiles at her in spite of himself and she smiles back.

Savvy beams at them. "I knew they'd make up. Right, Weiss? Didn't I tell you that they would – okay,  _stop_ that!" she cries hastily. "Can't you two just keep it together for one minute?"

"You just said you were glad we made up!"

"Yes. I'm glad you made up. That doesn't mean I want you making up all over my duvet. That's thousand count Egyptian cotton."

"It's beautiful," Addison says, stroking the fabric with one hand. "But it's surprisingly easy to clean, actually. One time –"

"Why am I not surprised that you know that?" Savvy shakes her head. "Okay, everyone out of the bedroom now that Addison has seen my – no, that came out wrong, but you know what I mean. Weiss, we have to keep these two away from beds."

"Why?" Weiss mutters. "That's their least favorite place to do it."

Addison's teeth are worrying her lower lip. She seems a little ashamed.

… to an outsider, maybe. Derek can tell she's trying not to laugh.

"Back out to the living room," Savvy commands, waving her hands airily and ushering them out the door. "We're having a nice civilized brunch. I'll go get some more coffee – Weiss, honey, sit between them, please," she adds, when they start to settle on the couch.

"Wait," Derek says, realizing they've only heard half the story. "What about Two for One Tuesdays at – "

He falls silent at Addison's elbow in his ribs.

Ouch.

..

Back in Savvy and Weiss's airy living room, Addison sighs. It's not that she doesn't want Savvy to be happy, but the brief moment on the bed when Derek was sitting close to her felt so good.

They've always been tactile people.

They fight, sure. They've always fought. But they also always made up, and admittedly they've always been better at apologizing with hands than they have with mouths.

Er – with  _words._

The point is, she'd like to sit next to him again.

But she's not sitting next to him. She's sitting next to Weiss, who has spread his arms and legs like an inconsiderate subway commuter so that Addison and Derek are forced to opposite ends of the couch.

So," Weiss says cheerfully. "What shall we talk about?"

"Something chaste," Savvy says, returning with coffee and setting it out on the table. "Something that's not sexy."

"Baseball," Weiss suggests. Derek shakes his head immediately.

"The two of them will just want to talk about Jeter," he explains.

When Savvy's eyes glaze over, Weiss seems to realize his friend is right.

"Fine. Uh … gangrene."

"Rats," Savvy suggests, shuddering a little. "Subway rats."

Addison and Derek are utterly unmoved.

"The problem with being friends with doctors," Weiss announces, "leaving aside the separate sex fiend issue with these two doctors in particular, is that you can't gross them out with anything … gross. They've seen and heard it all."

Savvy nods knowingly, while Derek considers whether to be offended.

He supposes that it's not wrong to say he and Addison are used to gore. It's not wrong that they've seen and heard it all, dissected a fair amount of it …

…and sometimes had sex right afterwards too, so Weiss has a point.

"Fine," Savvy says. "Let me think."

Addison and Derek exchange a glance. While their friends are distracted, maybe they could move a little closer, and –

"Law!"

Addison stops inclining her foot toward her husband at Savvy's exclamation.

"Oh, I like that. Great idea." Weiss taps his chin thoughtfully. "Sav, I don't think I finished telling you what happened with the RFAs, did I?"

"No, I don't think so. Do tell." Savvy props her chin in her hand.

Weiss smiles, turning to their friends. "Derek. Addison." He stretches out his hands. "Have you ever considered the flexible standard for withdrawing deemed admissions after the time runs out to respond to a request?"

"What?" Addison looks confused.

"Ooh, good call," Savvy says approvingly.

"This is great." Weiss smiles with satisfaction. "Addie, Derek, You'll love this. So we get these requests for admission and my associate is working on …."

His words start to blur.

Because the story is long.

And detailed.

And Derek feels the excitement that started building up when he sat down next to this wife in the bedroom, the warm length of her thigh against his, start to recede.

… a lot.

Addison, for her part, is resting her chin in her hand. Derek can see that her eyes– while a lovely shade of not-blue-not-green-either – look, well … fine. They  _don't_ , however, look like she's trying to figure out the next opening for her to pounce.

(They don't look like she'd try to make a double entendre about the word "opening," either.)

In short, Weiss's story seems to be working.

The law is boring, apparently. Not at all like those episodes of  _Law and Order_ that would play in the residents' lounge on overnight call.

Derek is well aware that Savvy and Weiss are as likely to talk shop as he and Addison are, and many a double date dinner of the past has broken off into twosome debate or recollection of some moment or dilemma of their respective professions.

And the other two have just … tuned out.

But now he and Addison have no choice but to be tuned in.

"… subserve the presentation of the merits …"

Savvy seems engrossed by the story; Derek finds his eyes growing heavy.

" … prejudice needs to stem from reliance on the binding …"

Addison shifts restlessly – not the way she did on the plane, but like she wishes she could be somewhere else.

" … procedurally, the second prong of Rule 36 …"

But then Derek realizes something strange seems to be happening.

The more Weiss goes on with the seemingly endless story, the more of an effect it seems to be having on Savvy.

At first Derek thinks she's not feeling well.

Savvy is shifting in her seat; she looks rather flushed, and keeps tucking the same strands of long blonde hair behind her ears and then taking sips of coffee. Derek notices her hand is shaking a little when she sets the cup in the saucer.

"So  _then_ I redrafted the – "

"Stop!"

They all turn to Savvy, who is now fanning herself with one hand. "I can't take any more."

Addison smiles sympathetically – no offense to Weiss, because of course she supports his professional success, but she's not sure she can take much more of this tedious story either.

Derek also smiles sympathetically – better Savvy than him, in terms of not hurting his friend's feelings, but he's not sure he can take much more either.

But then Derek turns to his wife; she looks alarmed now, eyebrows shooting up toward her vivid hairline.

"What?" he mouths.

"I forgot what Weiss's courtroom stories do to Savvy," she whispers, leaning toward Derek, which is easy because Weiss has leaned forward to get closer to Savvy.

So forward, in fact, that he practically falls off the couch, Addison leaping out of their way before Savvy jumps to her feet and wraps her arms around her husband's neck.

"Tell me about the sanctions," she whispers. "Start from the – "

"I didn't realize how late it was!" Addison announces loudly, standing up and brushing her hands off on her slacks – there are no crumbs or even a speck of lint, she's Addison, after all, and then she gestures to Derek. "We should probably get going. Right, honey?" she adds pointedly when Derek doesn't respond.

"Oh, do you really have to go?" Savvy asks monotonously, her words muffled by Weiss's neck, from which she is apparently attempting to extract cobra venom.

"Thanks so much for having us," Addison says sweetly, gesturing with no small measure of panic to Derek; obediently, he stands up and ducks around the rather compromised clump of their good friends.

Savvy seems to realize they're leaving only as they head toward the door. Most of her limbs are now wrapped around Weiss and she's half dragged him down to the couch with her. "Addie – you're in town for a while – we can all get dinner or … ?"

"Of course. I'll, uh, I'll be in touch," Addison says, hustling Derek toward the front door as Savvy's shriek of something they don't need to examine too closely echoes across the apartment.

"Thanks for coming!" Savvy calls as the front door closes behind them.

Although, from the sound of it, it's not their coming that's really at issue anymore.

Addison and Derek manage to wait until the elevator. Once the ornate doors are closed, they take one look at each other and burst out laughing.

"The hypocrisy!" Addison has tears of laughter in her eyes. "The sheer hypocrisy! They act like  _we_ can't keep it together!"

"And there they are, acting like …"

Derek's voice trails off before he can say the word  _us._

"She's never been able to handle Weiss's legal victories," Addison sighs. "I guess I should have been prepared. But it's hard to figure out when a victory is coming, because frankly all his stories sound the same to me. Lots of words."

"Well, it seemed like the 'words' portion was over by the time we left."

Addison snickers in response. "Worse than us. Derek, they're worse than us," she says, sounding pleased with herself.

They both laugh again.

"Although … I guess they  _were_  in their own home," Derek says after a long moment of laughter, holding the elevator door open while Addison exits.

"Oh. Right." Addison looks somewhat sobered as they walk through the lobby. "But the point is, they're still insatiable too. They get it."

Derek considers the word  _too_ for a moment. Back in Manhattan, it's getting harder to remember what it was like in Seattle, before they boarded the jet that would take them across the country.

They're outside now, filmy early-spring sunshine scattered on the sidewalk, when they realize they're not sure where they're going.

"I guess we have some free time," Addison says tentatively.

"We could … do something," Derek responds, just as tentatively.

"Sure." Addison glances at her watch. "There's an exhibit at the Guggenheim I wouldn't mind seeing."

"That sounds great." Derek watches a yellow cab pass them by.

"We can take the train. I don't, uh, I don't have a metrocard, but I guess we can get some – Derek, what are you doing?" her voice rises.

"Sorry," he says hastily. "There was a hair on your jacket."

"A  _hair_?"

"You know you hate when there's a hair on your jacket. Or anything you're wearing," he reminds her patiently.

She looks like she can't decide whether to be miffed or appreciative.

Then he realizes his hand is still resting on her shoulder. Carefully, he removes it.

"So, uh, did you want to go to the subway, or …." Derek's voice trails off because Addison is looking at him rather the way he saw her look at the plate of lox earlier this morning.

"Did  _you_  want to go to the subway?" she asks in response, repeating his words, her voice a little throaty.

"Yes. Sure." He nods. "Unless – "

"Hotel," Addison blurts suddenly, "we could go to the hotel. I mean, if you want to."

Derek is mesmerized by the color of her eyes – he's watching it change, it's more obvious here in the natural light. He moves a step closer.

"Excuse me," a man in a suit says impatiently, pushing between them.

"Where is he going?" Addison glares as the man speeds off. "It's Sunday. Doesn't he have  _any_ work-life balance?"

"He should be more like us," Derek suggests. "We're balanced."

A smile spreads across Addison's face. "We certainly are." She leans forward to kiss him, her movement so smooth it almost seems inevitable.

Her kiss is soft and quick – friendly even – but instinct curls his fingers around her waist and pulls her closer.

"Behave," Addison whispers, gesturing at their very public location, "if we get caught after all Weiss did for us, he's going to feel –"

"I doubt Weiss is feeling anything right about now," Derek smirks. "Especially about us."

"Fine, but if he has to leave Savvy to bail us out of jail again, he's definitely not going to be happy."

"Fair enough." Derek sighs. "So … back to the hotel?"

Addison nods.

It's easy. Or it should be, anyway.

They're just going to hail a cab. They walk toward the corner, but Addison – who has always believed traffic should stop for her, and is rarely proven wrong – starts to step out into the street against the light.

"Stop it." Derek puts an arm out to block her, frowning. "You can wait three seconds for the light to change."

She looks annoyed but doesn't argue. He realizes his hand is still in front of her, blocking her, and she's pressed against his forearm. Her skin is warm through her light jacket.

Hurriedly, he yanks his arm down, but not before she smiles up at him. "Thanks for the save," she says.

He's not sure which one – blocking her from the cars that are still hurtling by, or moving his arm before its effect on both of them became obvious. So he hails a cab instead of figuring it out.

Derek holds the cab door open for Addison – as a gentleman should, as he has been taught firmly by his wife, since she's wearing slacks.

(Of course he gets in first when she's wearing a skirt, as she often is. He only had to make that mistake once.)

From his vantage point on the sidewalk, one hand resting on the taxi door, he watches Addison arrange herself daintily on the cracked leather seat. He can see her expression change – just slightly – the moment her flesh makes contact with the seat.

And he can also see her glance at him to make sure he saw.

Two words he has never associated with his wife:  _Not Dramatic._

"You can't still be sore from this morning," he frowns as he joins her in the back seat.

"Why can't I?" she asks, turning innocent eyes toward him.

"Because … well …"

"Where are you going?" the driver barks, apparently not interested in the science behind how long the sting of an open palm lingers on sensitive skin.

Derek recites the intersection of their hotel more slowly than usual, since Addison has apparently decided that this is a good time to …

He can't think of a word other than  _snuggle_ , though it sounds awfully innocent considering the woman involved. It's actually … here's another oddly innocent word: it's nice. It's nice to relax against the seat and feel the warmth of her curled against him, the window cracked to the light spring breeze.

It's nice.

Peaceful, even.

"Derek …  _Derek_ ," she hisses, one of her sharp elbows digging into him, and he snaps to attention.

"What's wrong?"

She nods toward the front seat. "He's taking the Drive."

"So?" He finds his hands sliding down her back to pull her close again.

"So, at this hour we're going to end up – "

He kisses her – to shut her up, admittedly, which he recognizes doesn't sound very gentlemanly, but he's had practically two decades of experience with her commitment to backseat driving, and there's very little that can stop her once she gets going.

"Hey!" The driver raps on the plexiglass partition. "Get a room," he says, sounding more pleased with himself than he should.

Derek feels rather than sees Addison's lips part in preparation for what will no doubt be a scathing remark, and he moves his hand over her mouth to muffle it before they end up arrested again.

"Sorry," he calls toward the driver, hoping he sounds chastened … if not chaste.

"Ow!" He pulls his hand away at a sudden sharp pain. "Did you just – bite me?"

"Maybe." Addison scowls at him.

He shakes his sore hand, frowning at her. "That hurt."

"You started it," she protests.

"I'm going to finish it, too," he growls, pulling her close for an all-too-brief moment before he catches the driver glaring at them in the rearview mirror.

"Never mind," he says, releasing her with no small measure of reluctance. "Let's just … get back to the hotel. But I'll get you back later."

"Oh, good," Addison says, recrossing her legs and looking quite pleased. "I have just the thing for that."

..

To Derek's pleasant surprise, their room has already been discreetly and impeccably straightened, with vases of fresh flowers and a wire basket of brightly colored fruit.

(No peaches, thankfully)

His gaze lands on the newly made bed with its fluffy duvet. It's like a large, white magnet, pulling him, and he's pulling Addison –

"Wait," she says, resting a hand on his chest.

Wait?

Oh, that's right. With some effort, he summons their conversation from earlier.

"You want to talk," he says tentatively.

"I do? I mean, I do," Addison corrects herself hastily. "Just, maybe it can wait …"

"It can wait."

"… because we have plenty of time."

"Plenty," Derek echoes, his hands sliding down her waist again. Next time she asks if she should wear the white shirt, he's going to remember that he likes it.

(Okay, fine, he's going to forget and just nod and smile.)

"Wait," Addison says again.

Derek tilts his head, confused by the mixed messages.

"I want to give you something first."

He's certainly not going to say no to that.

"Not that kind of something," she corrects him, smiling. "A … present."

And she disappears briefly, returning with a sleek beribboned box.

"Another present?" he asks.

"It  _is_ your birthday trip," she reminds him.

"True." He slips the ribbon off – Addison is well known for her perfectly wrapped presents that seem elaborate but then practically fall open. It's one of the many little things she does so flawlessly, and makes seem so effortless, that he never really noticed it until she was gone.

Or he was gone.

The point is … they were gone.

And now they're not, and he's opening her present, and –

"Derek?" she prompts as he turns a silky black scarf over in his hands. "What's wrong?"

"Not to be ungrateful," he says quickly, "it's just a little … "

_Girly._

"A little what?"

"Girly," he admits.

And it's not  _it_ , it's  _they_ , because he's realized that there are in fact two of them in the box, slithering coolly over each other like a pair of snakes.

She's silent, and he's worried he's offended her.

"I can try them," he says doubtfully, wondering if this is going to be like the Pocket Square Debacle of 1996. "Do I wear them around my neck, or – "

"They're not for  _you_ , Derek, they're for me!" Addison interrupts, looking faintly horrified.

"Oh!" He's relieved. "So they  _are_  girly."

He feels a little validated.

Addison sighs. "Not for me to wear."

"Then what do you –"

"They're for you."

"But you just said – "

"They're for me, but they're for you to use," she clarifies.

"Use for what?"

"Oh for god's sake, Derek,  _tie me up!_ "

"Oh." His eyes widen. "Oh _._  Well … why didn't you just say it?"

Addison massages her temples. "I  _just_ did."

Well.

Oh.

He gets it now.

She doesn't have to ask him twice … but a quick scan of the bed leaves him disappointed.

The sleek, modern hotel bedstead is low and opaque, smooth as glass, with no place to tie silk scarves. He frowns, surveying his options.

Hanging above the bed is a stark modern photograph – enormous, probably eight feet. It's too abstract for him to figure out what it is – flowers? A close up of – a seashell? Combined with the silk scarves in his hand, it's making him feel a little flushed.

Addison just smirks at him and then climbs up onto the bed. He's distracted by the view at first, and then confused when she uses both hands to lift down the oversized framed photograph.

"Careful," he warns her.

"It's not heavy," she assures him, and then when she's removed it he sees sticking out of the wall two good sized, very heavy looking – and previously hidden – brass loops.

"Addison …"

"Okay, so I planned ahead." She grins at him.

"You planned ahead," he repeats, impressed.

"I had to pay off the concierge, but I've been assured they're very sturdy … in addition to subtle."

Derek is fairly certain their matching court-issued desk appearance tickets with  _public indecency_ in black and white suggest subtlety isn't exactly their forte, but he can't exactly complain either.

..

There's a lot of laughing, reminding her of the early days of their relationship when they were still getting to know each other, their bodies and their likes and their dislikes. So far, the scarf extravaganza has been about half confusing attempts to determine the right position to use the brass loops, and half distracted fumblings when they can't quite wait to get started.

Maybe more like 60/40 in favor of the fumbling.

"The height isn't quite right," she offers, frowning.

It figures. She gave the concierge  _detailed_  information, but you really can't get anything done right unless you do it yourself.

"Addie…"

"What?" She turns around with as much dignity as she can muster.

He shakes his head. "You're thinking this is the concierge's fault, and you could have done it better yourself."

"I am not," she lies.

"What did you even tell him to get him to do this? No, wait." He holds up a hand. "I take it back. I don't want to know."

"Good," she says, because she doesn't particularly want to relive it. Primly, she holds her towel closed; she learned after the Handcuff Incident of 1998 that waiting too long to remove her bra results in scissors and shrieking at losing one of her favorite La Perla pieces and … well, suffice it to say lingerie and restraints don't always go well together.

(As for the towel, that's because Shepherds and patience don't go well together either, so keeping things covered for now is necessary.)

"See, it's too high," she shows him.

"How tall did he think you were? Were you wearing heels?"

"On the phone?" she snaps, then shakes her head. "Look, we can't exactly move them, so do you want to tie me up or not?"

"When you ask like that…"

Addison tosses her hair. "All we have to do is make me a little taller, like … so." She kneels up and reaches for the rings, letting the towel drop onto the bed. Looking over her shoulder, she smiles at her husband. "See?"

Based on his glazed eyes, he does see.

Grinning, she turns around and pushes him down on the duvet, only to find herself sitting up again.

"Wait," he says.

"Now what?"

"We need a safe word."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," she snaps.

Except she doesn't say  _Pete._

"Excuse me for wanting to be safe," he retorts. "Or have you forgotten the night – "

"Derek, if you tell me the story of when we were intents and the guy came in with a light bulb in his – "

"Fine," he interrupts, "but the point is, safety is important."

"Whatever." She runs impatient fingers through her hair.

"So we need a safe word," Derek reminds her, "and it's supposed to be something you wouldn't ordinarily say."

She doesn't respond.

"Like  _I'm wrong_ ," Derek suggests quietly.

"Or  _my husband has a normal amount of hair products_ ," Addison counters.

"How about  _I trust other people to drive without my constant criticism_?"

"Or  _I love living in a glorified shoebox_ ," she snaps.

For a moment both of them are silent.

"You know what, the traffic light system is a classic for a reason," Derek says heartily, and Addison nods.

With verbal logistics out of the way, it's back to the physical, and confirming that with Addison's positional tweaks, they can make this work.

As it turns out … they can.

It's not without some good-natured argument (and some less good-natured), and a few cracks about backseat driving when Addison attempts to interject her knowledge of sailors' knots into Derek's process of tying her wrists to the brass loops.

" _Round-turn and two half hitches?_ " Derek shakes his head. "That can't be a real knot. It sounds like a sexual position."

"Actually," Addison says brightly, "it can be both. Back when I was a lifeguard at the club, one time – ow!"

Derek shakes out his palm, looking quite satisfied with himself when she throws a dark look over her shoulder.

"Is that how it's going to go?" she asks.

"Unless you brought a third scarf," Derek mutters.

"A third – " she catches his meaning and glowers.

She tugs a little at the scarves and he takes pity on her, massaging the spot he just marked. She's planning to stay annoyed a little longer, but it's hard under the focused attention of his hands. Hers are useless, which is simultaneously frustrating and … well … frustrating.

The brass loops are sturdy under her hands while Derek's hands skim over her, lightly enough to make her shudder. Gently, he draws her hips back. The blank white wall blurs in front of her eyes as she realizes that the brass loops might just be in the perfect position after all.

She's going to be apologizing to the concierge.

Or not, because she only insulted him in her mind.

She's could leave a review on  _Thousand Count Sheets_ , her favorite hotel booking site. Except what could she say about this that wouldn't be, well, incriminating?

And it's hard to concentrate on reviews anyway; she's gripping the brass loops tightly, the silk rubbing her bound wrists and making her feel a little faint with sensation. The limited movement is threatening to drive her crazy – it feels like Derek is everywhere at once, the heat of his body behind her, inside her, one warm hand tangling in her hair and keeping her upright. She hisses, the sting in her scalp fading quickly to pleasure.

"Are you sure this is comfortable?" Derek asks, pausing.

She grits her teeth, willing him to continue. "Are  _you_  sure comfortable is what we're going for?" she pants when he doesn't.

He seems to accept this.

And then he stops talking; his lips are busy on the sensitive skin of her neck. With her limited vision she can't tell where he's landing next, her body shuddering in response. She arches against him, trying to control the overwhelming sensations, and he just shifts his grip.

"Derek…"

"Whose birthday is it?" he teases, one of his hands circling sensitive flesh, then withdrawing when she tries to press against it.

She says his name again and he laughs a little, tracing light patterns along her thighs and deftly avoiding her most sensitive spots even as she circles her hips with increasing desperation to try to shift his attention.

"Can't you be patient?" he asks, his lips against her ear, and he sucks one lobe into his mouth when she doesn't respond.

"No," she snaps, "do you know me at all?"

"I know you pretty well, actually." She can't see him, but he sounds like he's trying not to laugh.

All of the pressure suddenly withdraws from her and she's dangling from the brass loops, her skin tingling.

"Come back," she pleads before she can stop herself.

"What's the magic word?"

She tries a few unprintable ones before he takes pity on her.

"Hold on," he cautions her, tapping her hands where they're gripping the brass rings.

"What do you think I've been – " she stops talking abruptly when he sinks deeply inside her, sighing with pleasure as she adjusts to the sensation.

"What were you saying?" he asks, his tone light, his hips moving just slowly enough that at least she knows it's killing him a little too, even if he's enjoying tormenting her far too much.

"Never mind," she says, with as much dignity as she can muster while she's tied to the wall.

He stops moving.

"Derek, I swear – "

"What do you swear?"

His fingers are moving and she hisses with pleasure, her thighs snapping together to trap the hand he withdraws just in time.

"Easy there, Bond girl," he says, a frown in his voice. "That's a very valuable hand you almost broke in two."

"But do your patients know what you do with it?" Addison asks sweetly, flinching a little in anticipation of retaliation that doesn't come.

He doesn't seem concerned with her taunts, just smoothing his hands over her flesh in a rather proprietary way that's making her skin tingle. The feeling of being at his mercy is – okay, fine, it's hot, and she doesn't really appreciate being left to her own devices. She shifts deliberately, trying to bring friction to her aching flesh – only to feel his hands on her thighs, separating them and taking away any chance she had of scratching her own itch.

"Patience," he reminds her.

She tugs at the brass loops connected to her wrists. "Fine, if you're not going to do this, then untie me."

"How about I  _not do this_ , but also not untie you?" he asks pleasantly, and to her horror she feels him climbing off the bed.

"Derek!"

He doesn't answer.

She tugs on the brass loops again. "You had better not leave me here. Derek! Derek, where are you going?"

"I'm right here," he says, sounding amused. "You do know you can turn your head."

"Oh." She might have forgotten. She can't turn it much, but she does her best under the circumstances. He's standing just next to the bed, leaning against the wall, looking far too pleased with himself. She's just about to reach for him when she remembers her confinement.

"Untie me," she suggests.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you could use a hand," she says casually, lowering her eyes toward the evidence.

He smiles. "You look good in black silk," he responds, ignoring her offer. He reaches toward her bound hands and rubs his fingers along the material of the scarves. She inclines her body toward the warmth of his.

"Derek."

"Yes?"

She has to choose her words carefully, since the pulse between her thighs is threatening to destroy her and she doesn't want to hand him any ammunition.

"…nothing," she says finally.

"Addison Shepherd, at a loss for words?" He sounds amused. "I don't think so."

She feels the bed dip as he climbs onto it.

Thank  _god._

And then she's thanking more than god because he's apparently remembered the whole point of the loops and the scarves and the whole trip; he's grabbed the loops too and he's pressed flush against her, filling her with heat. For a perfect few moments they're moving as one – the thrusts of his hips are calculated to leave her breathless; with her arms stretched up and bound she can't muffle the sounds that escape her lips. All she knows is that she's heading toward a crescendo that she needs now, right now, and then one of his hands isn't covering hers on the loop anymore. It's sliding down the front of her, pulling her back even closer to him and then skimming over the heartbeat between her thighs.

She flinches away from his fingers, aware that she's been begging him to touch her, but she's suddenly so sensitive she's not sure she can take it.

He backs off on her exhale, without her having to say anything, keeping his distance and keeping her on the edge all at the same time.

"Derek …"

He doesn't answer; it seems to be taking all his concentration to massage her close to the brink with one hand while he uses the brass ring with his other to leverage each thrust of his hips.

She's ready – she's more than ready – but then his hand drifts. Annoyed, she wriggles closer, trying to get his hand back where she wants it; he moves it just enough to keep her on the edge. She rattles the brass loops with frustration as his hands slides over her not quite where she needs them.

"Derek, would you  _stop_ teasing me and just –"

All of a sudden, with a tremendous noise, the brass loops they've been clutching give way and with a rush of plaster and a loud tearing sound half the wall is falling with it.

They tumble to the bed in a spray of crumbled plaster and paint.

" … fuck me," Addison finishes in a small voice, her intended words taking on a different meaning now.

..

"Yes, I'm sure I'm okay. Because I know when I'm okay, Derek!" she adds at his doubtful look. He's brushing chunks of white plaster, dust, and some kind of insulation that she really hopes isn't asbestos, from her bare skin. "Would you please just untie me so I can try to cover up before – "

There's a loud knock on the door, concerned voices.

" – like I was saying," she continues, and he makes hasty work of the first black silk scarf, rubbing her freed wrist between his palms.

"Do the other, Derek. Quickly!"

"I'm trying." He pulls at the scarf.

"Try harder!" She rolls her eyes. "You couldn't listen to me about the sailor's knot."

He ignores her, fussing with the knot as she tries to help and he pushes her fingers away. It's loud and raucous outside the door, with shouts of concern and threats – offers? – to break it down.

"Hurry," she hisses.

Then the door bangs open, just as she shoves her still-bound hand under the covers, complete with brass ring and several hunks of wall attached.

"Doctor and Doctor Shepherd!" the concierge bleats, looking petrified. "Are you all right?"

Derek gets the sense from the uniformed man's mixed expression of confusion and horror that he's not the same concierge who installed the ill-fated brass rings on the wall. Either that, or he's a very good actor.

"We're fine," Derek says quickly. There are two firemen on either side of the concierge, and Derek sends up a brief prayer that Addison can control herself better than the time when they were residents and four burly firefighters needed treatment for smoke inhalation.

"Fine," Addison echoes.

All the men in the room survey them with some manner of doubt. Derek isn't sure why. It's rather insulting, actually.

Maybe it's their flushed skin – Addison's cheeks are glowing and although she's pulled the covers as high up as she could, the parts of her upper chest still showing are markedly rosy. And fine, they're breathing a little fast, but anyone would after having a wall crash down on them, no matter what they were doing beforehand.

Hopefully it's just down to the crumbled wall surrounding their bed, making it look as if a tornado hit.

Meanwhile, two more hotel employees show up while Addison looks like she'd like to disappear. They're arguing and fussing over the damage to the room all at once, the concierge falling over himself with apologies for their fright.

"You must have been so startled," one of the new hotel employees says sympathetically. This one is a woman, who seems to be taking the measure of them a little too suspiciously for Derek's taste. "For this to happen when you were in bed."

"We were sleeping," Derek says immediately.

"Sleeping," the woman echoes. Derek sees her glance at her watch, as if to remind herself that it's not even five o'clock yet.

"We were taking an afternoon nap," Addison says firmly, picking pieces of plaster out of her wildly snarled hair. Derek notices she's managed somehow to free her other hand.

She has talented fingers, his wife, but this is impressive even for her.

"Taking an afternoon nap," the concierge echoes.

Derek nods.

"We're sorry that this … happened," he says diplomatically, promising himself that if they can get out of this with what's left of their dignity intact, he'll pay for everything, "but if you could just find us another room – we were, uh, in the middle of something."

"I thought you were napping," the female hotelier says.

"Precisely," Addison responds with dignity, "we were in the middle of napping."

The firemen and the concierge exchange looks.

"Of course, madam," the concierge says. "We'll let you get dressed – I mean, get ready – and then I'll show you to a new room." He pauses. "We can have the hotel doctor come take a look at you."

"That won't be necessary," Addison says quickly, Derek nodding vigorously along with her. After their last interaction with the hotel doctor, he's not eager for another one.

Finally left to their own devices, they take one look at each other and start laughing helplessly.

"Red," Addison says after a moment, trying to catch her breath.

" _Now_  you say it." Derek picks another piece of plaster out of her hair. "Let's go find a new room that has four walls."

..

Dressed (well, in robes) and somewhat dignified, they stumble along the halls with the concierge while two other bellmen carry their luggage. They offered to bring it later, but Addison quickly averted the potential disaster of another interruption.

Distracted, Addison barely glances at the first room; the concierge interprets it as a failure and ushers them to another, even larger, suite.

"Now  _this_  room – " the concierge begins.

Addison's eyes are glazing over. "We'll take it," she says quickly.

"Are you sure? You did request a VIP room, and we want you to be satisfied."

"Believe me, so do we – " she yelps a little when Derek pinches her.

"It's just that this suite has – "

"It's fine."

"Why don't I just show you – "

"Oh my god, don't show us another room," Addison blurts.

"This one is perfect," Derek says hastily when the concierge looks hurt.

"But it has – "

"That's fine," Addison says.

"It doesn't have – "

"I don't  _care_ ," Addison snaps, apparently finally sexually frustrated enough to forget her manners whole hog. "Just leave us alone!"

"Addison." Derek frowns. "I'm so sorry," he tells the concierge. "When my wife is … awakened ... she can be grumpy."

"Ah. I understand. Some sleeping will revive her, then?"

"I hope so," Derek says sincerely. "Thank you so much for your time and – "

"Good night," Addison says pointedly, the door closing with a decisive click before anyone can point out that it's not exactly  _night._

..

"Ugh, I thought he would never leave." Addison drops her robe to the ground, then looks confused when Derek doesn't move.

"I said, I thought he would never – "

"I heard you."

"Well then why aren't you … ?" She gestures down her very naked body. Which, in fairness, is very distracting.

But.

He's seen so much of it since they left Seattle that it isn't as difficult to ignore it as it could have been, and worth it for how frustrated she's becoming, a rosy flush spreading from her cheeks down her long neck.

"Derek … what are you trying to pull?"

"Nothing," he says innocently, raising both hands – both because he knows it will get a rise out of her and because it will keep him from automatically placing those same hands on her body.

"I can't wait any longer!"

"Sure you can," he says casually.

Her eyebrows raise so high he thinks they might disappear altogether. "The last time you tried to make me wait we broke the hotel."

"True." Derek glances around the living room, which has several tempting but decorative-looking columns. "I'll stay away from load-bearing structures this time."

And he doesn't make a move to touch her.

"Fine, then I can just finish it myself," she snaps.

"Actually … you can't."

"What do you mean, I can't?"

"I  _mean_ … it's my birthday."

He walks toward her – she sighs audibly as he approaches and he can see her starting to melt; it's flattering, really, even though all he does when he gets there is turn her around and draw both long arms behind her back.

"Derek?" She turns to look at him over her shoulder. He points toward the opposite wall and, somewhat grudgingly, she turns back.

Then he pulls one of the silk scarves from his pocket. He rubs the skin on her wrists gently first, and when she pushes them closer to him he wraps them in the silk scarf, deciding on a festive bow to tie it – it  _is_  his birthday. He tugs her hands gently apart to confirm the strength of the knots. Addison is waiting patiently – well,  _somewhat_ patiently. She keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot in a way that suggests she's having trouble staying focused.

He busies himself checking the fabric of the scarf again, then runs his hands gently up her captured arms, coming to rest on her shoulders.

"Derek…"

"Shh," he tells her, staying far enough back that her body can't press into his. He can feel her frustration.

"Derek!"

"Addison. I thought the scarves were my present."

"They  _were_ , but …"

"…but you still wanted to be in charge?" He moves some of her sex-tousled hair off her neck so he can press a row of kisses to its long elegant lines. "Why am I not surprised?"

She doesn't deny it, but she doesn't protest either, just squirming lightly under his hands as he makes his slow, deliberate way along the side of her neck. He lifts handfuls of hair away from her nape to kiss that too, then lets his mouth drift to the other side of her neck. Slowly, deliberately, he starts the reflection of the previous journey.

Addison is very still underneath his hands and lips – but only on the outside. He can feel the faint vibrations under her skin, the way her muscles clench as he brushes sensitive flesh. He's still only touched her neck and shoulders but the breaths leaving her mouth are uneven already.

"Derek." She turns around to face him. "I don't mean to be unadventurous … but should we check out the bedroom?"

"We can check out the bedroom," he says agreeably, "but I'm pretty sure we took this suite no-backsies."

"No-backsies." She sounds amused. "Is that the legal term?"

"You'd have to ask Weiss and Savvy."

At the names of their friends they both fall silent for a moment, a little ruefully, wondering what their favorite lawyers might make of their latest debacle.

"We'll pay for the damage," Addison says finally, her tone bright.

And that's that.

"Bedroom?" she prompts.

He lets her walk first, enjoying the view, although she needs him to open the knob.

The vast bedroom is far more than they need, with an enormous plank of a bed low to the ground and covered in white. He takes quick note of the sleek table and chairs under the window, the desk, a closet almost large enough to satisfy his wife, and thick carpeting under his feet.

"Derek …"

Addison's eyes are beseeching. She doesn't even complain about her bound hands; impressed, he leads her over to the bed, pausing at its edge to capture her lips with his. Gently, he pushes her down to sit.

And with a shriek, she falls off.

"Addison!"

He's kneeling over her on the ground, pulling her to a seated position, guilt flooding him. She must have been off-balance with her wrists tied. This is his fault. His hands skim over her, assuring him she's not injured.

"I'm so sorry – "

Her shoulders are shaking – it's not like her to cry over something like this, but he knows emotions are high from their earlier activities. "Addie?" He brushes some of her tousled hair away from her face.

"It's a  _waterbed_ ," she bleats, and he sees that it's laughter shaking her body, not tears. "Derek, that's what the concierge was trying to say. He was trying to tell us it's a waterbed."

"A waterbed?" He reaches over to touch the mattress – only to be bounced back up like he's trying to press on a bowl of jell-o. "What is this, 1985?"

"Maybe it's retro," she says faintly. "Or ironic. I don't know. I just know it's – "

– not going to stand up to what they want to do with it.

Resolute, he stands up and then lifts her to her feet. "You sure you're okay?"

She nods.

"Good." He reaches for the sleek white telephone on the desk.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting us a bed we won't drown in," he says simply.

..

Preserving their dignity for the second room switch is something of a challenge – thankfully the bow on Addison's wrists was easy to untie this time.

Explaining to the weary concierge that they both have bad backs, Derek carefully assesses the mattress before they agree to the next room.

"It's not a suite," the concierge says apologetically.

_We really only need the bedroom anyway._

"That's fine," Addison assures him; perhaps sensitive to his concern for them, she praises the floor to ceiling windows in the large room and he looks a little happier.

And then, finally, he's gone.

Addison sighs when the door clicks shut.

"Well, it's been a long day," she says. "I think I need to sleep."

"Oh." Derek hides his disappointment as best he can. "Of course. Why don't you lie down, and – "

Addison can't seem to keep a straight face. "Derek, I was  _kidding._ "

"Well, it wasn't funny." He pulls her toward him by the waist strap of her robe.

"It was a little funny," she counters as he makes short work of the strap and pushes the robe off her shoulders, and she does the same to his. He pulls her close for a moment, enjoying the feel of her, then pauses.

"I think I left the scarf in the other room," he says.

Addison produces a handful of black silk from the pocket of her robe.

He smiles; then, when she pushes her robe to the floor and turns away from him, dangling the black silk over her shoulder for him to grab, his smile turns to something else entirely.

"Are you sure you're not too tired?" he asks, picking up one of her wrists and rubbing the skin gently.

"Just do it," she says.

"A true romantic," he pronounces sarcastically. He pulls her flush against him for a moment, waiting until she wriggles impatiently to release her.

And then he pulls her wrists behind her for his best sailor's knot.

She turns to face him, looking very pleased. "I  _love_  do-overs," she says, and he draws her into his arms – even if the waterbed caused her fall in the other room, he doesn't want to take a chance with her losing her balance in this one.

They exchange a few slow, sweet kisses; he brushes her hair away from her face, palming one of her cheeks, and she smiles up at him. He's holding her close, his hands gentle on her sensitive skin, and she sighs a little against his neck before she pulls back to look at him again.

"Derek?"

"Yes, Addison?"

"… if I wanted  _sweet_ , I wouldn't have asked you to tie me up."

He raises his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, whose birthday is it?"

"Your birthday was on the plane."

"And yet, you gave me the scarves." He holds her away by the shoulders, shaking his head with mock disappointment.

"Derek – "

Her protest dies on her lips because he's dropped to his knees for a fairly decent imitation of her performance in their first hotel room this morning. He has to support all her weight to keep her from falling, but her reaction is rewarding enough to make up for it.

Rewarding, and then outraged when he stops.

"What?" he asks innocently when he's back to his full height, enjoying her glazed eyes and flushed cheeks.

"I would never leave you hanging," she pouts.

"You're a better person than I am," he says simply, watching as she tugs experimentally on the scarf binding her hands, perhaps wondering how difficult it would be to seek relief herself. She inclines her body toward his; he turns her around, sliding his hands down the curves of her side and scattering kisses on her shoulders.

She makes appreciative noises, but continues straining for more of his touch; he moves deftly out of the way when she does, never taking his hands off her but never letting her have the full body contact she's seeking either.

"Derek," she pleads finally, and her eyes are dark with need when she looks over her shoulder.

They've always enjoyed teasing each other, but the request she whispers is enough for him to lead her toward the mercifully sturdy bed in response.

She's only too happy when he encourages her to lie face **-** down, and then disappointed, it seems, when he lifts her all the way onto the bed instead of succumbing to her obvious invitation hanging half off it.

"Derek …"

Her voice is slightly muffled by the duvet.

"Don't say  _just do it_ ," he warns her. He's palming the soft skin of her back, her hips, her hamstrings, in steady slow strokes. She doesn't – not with words, but her faintly vibrating muscles are begging for it loudly all the same.

He ignores her unspoken demands, taking his time and enjoying the sensations; she's wriggling against the mattress, apparently still convinced she can find enough friction to finish the job herself.

Turning her over seems like a shame when the view from this angle is so spectacular, but he has plans so he carefully flips her onto her back, making sure there's not too much pressure on her bound wrists.

He could untie and retie them, he thinks, so that she doesn't have to lie on her arms. But this position adds an extra arch to her back, tilting her head and neck and he decides it's worth it. He can see in the flex of her muscles the exact moment she goes to link her arms around his neck – muscle memory – and pull him down on top of her.

She can't, of course, since her wrists are bound underneath her. Leaning close, he whispers in her ear: "Want me to untie you?"

It's an unfair question, maybe, since one of his hands is skimming up her thigh in time with his words.

"Don't you dare," she retorts, arching against him.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he admits, and swallows her response with his lips.

She's so sensitive to his touch by this point that keeping her on the edge of the cliff is extraordinarily difficult. It's not that he wants to deny her pleasure – and if he can believe her body's obvious tells, she's certainly no stranger to pleasure right now. He has to steel himself against her pleas, reminding himself that although  _Addison_ and  _delayed gratification_ are not two concepts he'd normally associate, it's his job to make her see the light.

And he takes his job seriously.

"Derek … are you trying to kill me?" she asks at one point, words as staccato as her breaths, but he just smiles down at her, returning his lips to the sensitive skin of her neck and pinning her desperately flexing hips to the mattress.

The third time she orders him to touch her, he waves his hand in front of her flushed face and reminds her that she bit him in the cab.

"So bite me back!" she snaps, and he has to press his face to the soft swell of her breasts to muffle a laugh.

"The scarves were your idea," he reminds her, "so stop backseat driving."

"It's just one scarf now," she corrects him, hissing a little at his probing fingers.

Grinning at her, he leaves the bed long enough to grab his discarded robe and reach into the pocket.

"You had the other one all along!" She tries, and fails, to sit up, looking somewhere between annoyed and impressed. "What are you going to do with it?" she asks warily as he approaches.

"That depends," he says, pausing. "How much birthday do I have left?"

..

"Derek, if you make me recite the traffic signals again, I'm getting a chastity belt," Addison snaps finally, as his hands hover near her face.

"Fine," he says grouchily, and at the eager inclination of her neck, he slips the black scarf around her eyes and ties it neatly at the bright back of her head before lowering it back down to the bed.

Leaning over her, he pulls the front of his hair low, like the ill-advised bangs he had the first year of medical school. She's never been able to see that without commenting, and when she's silent, he knows the blindfold worked.

"Derek?" she asks, sounding a little uncertain.

"I'm right here." He brushes some of her long hair away from her face. It's damp with perspiration; even for them, it's been a long night.

(And it's not even night yet.)

He strokes her hair, studying her flushed face, a little worried it's too much for her. Teasing her for this long is work for both of them; her trembling thighs must be exhausted, not to mention the pressure on her bound arms. She probably needs a break.

"Addie," he starts gently. "Why don't we – "

"Green, damn it, before  _my_  birthday," she snaps impatiently, and his worries melt away.

She's a pretty amazing woman.

He tells her this as he stretches out alongside her; she mutters something about  _show, don't tell_ , and he gets back to work obediently.

Blindfolded, she can't see or anticipate his movements, and after her first sigh of pleasure when he starts touching her again, he can see the frustration start building.

He varies his grip and his speed, watching her body's visible response every time he changes course. Her hips rise impressively to meet the barest of kisses he's scattering on her upper thighs – he supposes that Pilates is to thank for that one.

Slowly, he increases the pressure, enjoying the way she moves against his hand, desperately seeking more contact. Her hips are pleading along with her lips but again and again, he strokes her almost to the edge and then withdraws.

He knows she's frustrated, cursing each time he disappoints her – which earns her a pinch or a slap now, making her hiss with what he knows is pleasure. It's been a while since he's had the time – and, admittedly, the inclination – to work her into a frenzy like this. The blindfold is only adding to it and watching her thrash within the confines of her bound arms is making him worry he's not going to last long enough to give in to her. His hands are millimeters over her pleading flesh and he knows she can tell even though she can't see, arching further off the bed with longing. Her hands are bound but her legs are free, and when she tries to trap him with her powerful thighs, to draw him close enough that their bodies can join, he resists and pushes her flat to the bed again.

"Damn it, Derek, are you going to leave me like this all night?"

He considers it.

Without question, there's something powerful about having her at his mercy like this, thighs splayed invitingly, tangled hair spread out on rumpled blankets, flushed with arousal. With her expressive eyes covered, he has to read the rest of her face, her quivering lips and the beseeching set of her jaw.

He could finish this right now. She's been so close, each time, begging him – it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge – and what an edge it would be.

And then he could untie her wrists, massage the marks away and, based on how he feels right now, take another millisecond to join her and then they could find blissful sleep in the disarray of white sheets.

He closes his eyes for a moment, debating with himself. When he opens them, he sees her smiling at him – even with her eyes covered, he can tell they're smiling too. That's how recognizable her smile is.

A very Addison smile.

A smile of victory.

She thinks she's won.

She's so easy to read that he's filled with a sudden rush of affection, so he stops to plant a kiss on her lips to soothe her disappointment before abandoning her lower body altogether.

"Derek …?"

The uncertainty in her voice amuses him.

"What?" he asks, feigning confusion.

He sees her shift her splayed thighs, no longer seeming certain he's about to satisfy her. When his hands come to rest on them – enjoying the silky skin covering straining muscle – she sighs a little in anticipation.

He holds her open for one tantalizing moment and then slides down the bed; her cry of disappointment turns into one of surprise as he kneels on the carpet, holding her on the edge of the bed.

She's very quiet for a moment, during which he hefts her long legs over his shoulders and then puts lips and tongue to good work, alternating handfuls and mouthfuls of soft flesh. She moans in response, shifting as much as she can in her restrained position and whimpering a little when he bares the faintest hint of his teeth.

He's careful, knowing how sensitive she is. She tends to direct him in this position, to knot her fingers into his hair to guide his lips and control the pressure. The loss of that opportunity isn't lost on either of them. He grips her legs firmly – it takes all of his strength to keep her from sealing his ears shut, and he needs to be able to hear her to monitor her responses. She's frustrated and finally he pins her to the mattress with his forearms, muscling her down sufficiently to preserve what's left of his hearing.

Any protest dies on her lips when gets back to work. She has little room to move under him but he feels her undulating anyway, pulling back when her breathing changes to check on her.

"You okay?"

He can see from the folds of the silk scarf how tightly her eyes are squeezed shut, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The arched position she's in has tipped her head back in an imitation of ecstasy and he doesn't want to look too hard in case he's the one who loses control next.

"Addie."

"I'm  _fine_ ," she hisses. "Derek, please…"

Her long white body spread out on whiter sheets – he maps all its recognizable dips and curves, bones and muscle. It's a canvas of their adventures since they left Seattle: the bruise on her shin from the airplane bathroom and on her back from the ferryboat railing …

"Please," she whispers again.

With a last kiss on the inside of one quivering thigh, he lifts her back onto the bed and joins her, untying the blindfold. She blinks into the relative brightness.

He slides the black silk scarf down her body, massaging her lightly, and then tosses it onto the mattress.

"Derek…"

She's looking up at him from under her lashes, her eyes huge, and he's not sure how much longer he can hold out.

He takes one of her smooth calves in his hand and props her leg on his shoulder, readying himself over her. "Happy birthday to me," he says, entering welcoming warmth at the angle he knows from experience will push her over the edge and letting her explosive finish carry him with her.

..

Time melts into nothing other than staggered breathing and pure, unadulterated release.

For a long time, neither of them moves.

When they do, finally, it's in small shaky doses, just enough for Derek to free Addison's bound wrists and hoist both of them far enough up the bed to collapse. His body is screaming for sleep, but he forces enough energy to massage the muscles of her shoulders and upper arms, strained from being tied underneath her. She purrs with relief at his ministrations, and it's worth it.

Then she curls into him like a cat, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head.

"You okay?" He strokes the familiar long curve of her back, resting his palm on the closest hipbone.

"Um … I don't think I'm going to be able to walk tomorrow."

He's starting to slide into sleep, his face pillowed on softness, one of his hands now lazily tracing circles on her soft skin.

Addison doesn't sound particularly bothered by her prediction, just matter-of-fact.

But he knows her. She'll recover.

"I know what you're thinking," she murmurs against his neck; her body feels warm and loose after his massage.

"Oh, really?" He's a little more awake now. "What am I thinking?"

"You're thinking I'll recover."

… okay, fine, she knows what he's thinking.

"I just know you, that's all," he says with dignity.

"Yeah, you do." She tilts her head to smile up at him, her eyes soft and tired, and he's almost positive she's actually asleep before her head hits his shoulder again.

The thing is … he does know her.

He's fairly certain she'll recover.

But if she doesn't? Well … he's also fairly certain they're both creative enough to figure something out.

After all, they're Derek and Addison.

And they don't quit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No hotels were harmed in the writing of this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Feed me. I'm a hungry beast like Addek's sex drive.


End file.
